


Survivors

by Zoe1078



Series: Claire Stays [2]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe1078/pseuds/Zoe1078
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to Taken. With Claire and Jamie reunited after Culloden, they must find a way to survive British revenge upon the rebel Jacobites.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Storm

We were lucky to be alive, and we knew it. So many others were gone, either lost at Culloden or to English retribution in its aftermath. But hidden in the remote Scottish wilderness, Jamie, Murtagh and I were as free as any Jacobite traitors could be, free of the noose, free of shackles, even free, forever, of Jack Randall. Jamie would always bear the physical and psychic scars of what Black Jack had done to him, but the righteous act of justice that Jamie had administered when he ended the sadist’s life had done much to heal his wounds.

It was only days after the massacre had ended, and we were fugitives, both from the English and from the Scots. We didn’t know what to do or where to go. But despite our precarious situation, I was relieved, for Jamie and I were together. We had made camp near a rushing stream. I hadn't had a proper bath for longer than I cared to remember, and thus insisted on immersing myself in the clear, crisp water. Murtagh thought I'd lost my mind since the stream’s source was melted snow from the top of the nearby mountain. I was willing to put up with the near-freezing temperature for a chance to get clean. Jamie promised to keep watch while I bathed, though it was obvious that the only thing he was watching was me. “Ye look just like a water nymph rising out the river, Sassenach.”

“Are water nymphs blue?” I asked, teeth chattering.

“If I hadna felt the chill o’ the water myself, I'd join ye.”

“Perhaps we could warm each other up, lad.” I crooked my finger at him, hoping to coax him in. 

He didn’t move, but for the corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’ll happily warm ye out here, where it’s dry.”

“You’re just going to make me dirty again,” I protested. 

His eyes gleamed. “Aye. If it all goes to plan, I will. Come here.” He held out his hand. I thought about yanking him in with me, but his offer was too tempting. I let him draw me out and lay me down on his plaid, but I couldn’t resist teasing him with my frigid hands. I reached into his breeks and made him yelp from the chill. He retaliated by grabbing my wrists and pinning them by my head. “Oh, you’ll pay for that,” he growled.

I smirked up at him. “Do you promise?” 

His pupils dilated into large, black pools. “Aye. I do.”

Jamie kept his promise in the most delightful manner. 

After, with his head resting on my breast, he placed his hand reverently on my still-flat belly and murmured, “You are the most precious thing in the world to me, Sassenach, you and the bairn.” A cool wind moved his hair, and he pulled the plaid around us. We were silent for a time, and then he looked up at me with somber, clear eyes. “That is why I am afraid. I dinna know where to take you, how to keep you safe. I could still take you back to the stones, for there is a safe place for ye…”

I interrupted him, “Don’t speak of it! Don't even think it. I'm not leaving you, and that's final!”

He smiled ruefully, and as angry as I was at the suggestion, I couldn't resist him when he looked at me that way. “I ken,  _ mo ghraidh _ . Ye wouldna let me toss ye through if I tried. And I am grateful, so grateful. Because though I ken it would be best, it would be safest, I am selfish. I can’t do it. I canna live without you anymore, and I need ye by my side.”

I threw my arms around him, holding as tightly as I could. He wrapped his arms around my waist in return, and squeezed me just as hard. “We’ll find a way,” I reassured him. “As long as we're together, we’ll be all right. We’ll find a way. I’m here for a reason, Jamie. I’m meant to be with you. I’m meant for you. Don't you see that?”

“Aye,” he breathed into my hair. “I fear for ye, that’s all. We can’t stay in the woods forever wi’out shelter, and we canna go back to Lallybroch, for we’ll surely be found. And you and the bairn…” He swallowed thickly. 

He was terrified of losing us. I could feel it in his grip around my body. Losing his mother to childbirth at such a young age had marked him permanently, and losing Faith and nearly losing me in Paris had traumatized him just as badly. “Perhaps we could return to Paris? Mother Hildegard may be able to help me with the birth, if I need it. But Charles Stuart will return to France. I don’t remember how long it will take him to get there, and I don’t know if we should be there when he gets there.”

From his expression, I knew he was strongly considering a return to France. “Dougal was the only one who kent that we were tryin’ to work against him, unless Willie overheard and told…”

“Can we take that chance? Could we go to the Colonies? I’m not sure you’d survive a trip across the Atlantic…”

Murtagh interrupted our discussion, loudly calling out to find out if we were decent. We dressed hurriedly and joined him. He smelled ozone in the air, a sure sign of a brewing storm. The forest had been generous with its provision of food, between plentiful wild game and an abundance of forageable edibles. Yet it was severely lacking in appropriate shelter. Until now, we slept well enough under the canopy of leaves. So when we smelled the change on the wind, we reluctantly gathered our few belongings and cautiously headed out, hoping to encounter no redcoats. For that matter, we were none too eager to find other Scots, either. Killing Dougal MacKenzie made us traitors to both sides, and we expected refuge and succor from no one. 

Jamie, with his hawk's eyes, was the first to spot the great, black thunder clouds in the distance. They were moving in fast. "We only have an hour or two to find somewhere suitable. A little rain never killed anyone, but I dinna like the look of the sky. I canna have you caught in that, Sassenach." Unfortunately, we didn't know exactly where we were, let alone where to find hospitable refuge. 

The storm overtook us sooner than we expected. Its winds were strong, not only sending our cloaks billowing wildly about us and slowing our progress against the gale, but blowing branches and debris to whip past our faces. Jamie was almost crushed by an old, rotten tree that came toppling down. Likewise, the precipitation that started off as a steady rain quickly coalesced into stinging barbs of ice. When our horse reared up as it was struck between the eyes by hail the size of a golf ball, I was thrown gracelessly onto the muddy ground. I was more dirty than hurt, but the spill alarmed Jamie. He gathered me up and tried to shield me from the hail with his body.

We were immensely grateful when, not two minutes later, we saw ahead of us an old farmhouse. Wholly half the structure appeared burned out by an old fire, but some of the structure was made from stone and still stood. Behind it remained a flimsy-looking shack and a small barn. We stabled our horse and approached the house, thinking its stone walls would hold up better than the other structures in the wind, and praying that we would find no redcoats inside, for we had nowhere else to go. 

Jamie cautiously opened the door, broadsword drawn, only to be greeted by a battle axe swinging at his head. He met the weapon with his own. Steel clashed again and again before Jamie knocked the axe out of his opponent's grip and kicked him backward onto the floor. Jamie brought his sword down to run the man through, but Murtagh yanked him back. "Stop, man! Look who it is!"

It was dim, but peering between them I could barely make out two legs emerging from under a tartan. 

The voice was incredulous but held no hostility. "Jamie? Is that you?"

"Angus?  _ A dhia! _ " Jamie reached out to help the other man stand, but I noticed that he didn't sheathe his sword. "Who is that with you?"

"It's Willie and Duncan. They’re in bad shape; barely made it out alive. Hugh got out, but he’s with us no longer." At this revelation, Jamie tightened his grip on his hilt, while Angus made the sign of the cross for Hugh. 

Despite Jamie's call for caution and Murtagh's efforts to restrain me, I pushed my way inside and made out the shape of bodies huddled together in the corner. I recognized Duncan Kerr, one of the MacKenzie tacksmen, lying on his side and gasping for air. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his head lolled back near the leg of Hugh MacKenzie, another tacksman. Even without an examination, I could see that Hugh was already gone. His unseeing eyes were aimed blankly at the roof above, his body stiff with rigor mortis. Willie Coulter MacKenzie was shivering in a crumpled heap behind both of them, a cloth wrapped around his head. It had an ominous, dark stain soaking through it. The last time we saw him, he had been staring at us, slack-jawed, as we stood over the dead body of Dougal MacKenzie. He looked just as frightened now as he had then, but from the glassy sheen in his eyes, I wasn't sure he even recognized me. "Duncan? Willie? Are you alright?"

Duncan blinked blearily at me, while Willie flinched at the hand I placed on his shoulder, but said nothing. Angus explained soberly, "Duncan was shot in the chest, but managed to make it this far. But he canna seem to get enough air any longer. Started gasping like that only minutes ago.”

The sound was, indeed, alarming. “I need to take a closer look. I need light," I told Jamie. 

A short argument followed, since the men didn't think it was safe to light a fire. They didn't want to draw attention to us or our location. But when I felt how weak and rapid Duncan’s pulse became, I gave them a choice: to help me save the men, or watch them slowly die. They chose the former and lit a fire in the remnants of the hearth, while Murtagh pulled Hugh’s body aside and covered his face with his plaid. 

We were lucky that we retained Jamie's horse in our flight. Our saddlebags contained my essential tools and herbs, including a selection of rare and specialty plants from Master Raymond. The older man was feverish and clammy, his pulse was rapid and thready, he gasped like a fish out of water, and his lips and fingers were blue. He grabbed at me and tried to tell me something, but he couldn't get out the words. I was able to read his lips, though.  _ Help me!  _ When I uncovered his chest, I saw why he could not speak. A musket wound between his ribs had penetrated the pleural space outside his lung, narrowly missing his heart. The bleeding had stopped thanks to a rough cautery job applied by Angus, but only on the outside. A nasty burn in the shape of a sword’s tip surrounded the wound. “Did you get the musket ball out?” Angus shook his head. I placed my ear to his chest and listened, then percussed by tapping my fingers along his ribs. “He has a hemothorax.”

“A what?” Jamie asked.

“Blood is filling his chest cavity. It’s compressing his lung so he can’t get enough air into his lungs. From the location, I think it’s also pressing on his heart. I need to let it out.”

Angus leaned over us. “How do ye do that?”

I pointed. “I need to open the chest right here.” 

“Open?” Angus frowned.

“Murtagh, set the irons in the fire. Jamie, I need the smallest knife in the bag,” I said while I pulled a stiff, hollow reed and a waterskin from my bag. I doused the reed and my hands in whiskey, lacking the ability to properly sterilize anything, and reached for the blade. 

Jamie tried to hand it to me, but Angus grabbed his hand. “You arena going to let yer woman stab Duncan in the chest!”

At the same moment, Duncan’s head dropped back, and his eyes rolled back into his head. I felt for his pulse, but found none. “Now! Give me the blade now, or he dies!”

“I won’t let you hurt him!” Angus yelled and knocked the knife out of Jamie’s hand.

Murtagh sprang into action. He wrapped his arm around Angus’s throat while Jamie scrambled to give me the knife. While Murtagh yanked Angus back, I swiftly aimed the knife between Duncan’s ribs and pushed. Burned flesh, adipose tissue, and muscle parted, and I probed with my finger. Blood and air rushed out immediately. “God damn it, don’t you dare die on me, Duncan Kerr!  I’ll follow you to Hell and drag you out if I have to!”

Behind me, Angus struggled against Murtagh. “Stop it! Get off him, ye evil witch!”

I thought to yell back, but before I could, Duncan spammed and gasped, gulping in air. “ _ Ifrinn! _ ” He tried to sit up and grabbed at me, but Jamie and I pushed him back. 

“Be still, man!” Jamie grabbed his hands. “Be still!”

Angus had stopped struggling. “ _ A dhia! _ Duncan? Duncan!”

“Just lie back,” I instructed him. “You have to hold still. The musket ball is still inside you. I know it hurts, but you must hold still while I retrieve it.”

His confused eyes met mine, but he nodded and complied, saying, “ _ Aingeal. Aingeal.” _

“Here, drink this first. It will help with the pain.” I gave him laudanum, and then I instructed the men to hold him down. With my finger, I probed inside his chest, finding the lead ball lodged beneath his rib, where it had torn through the intercostal vessels, causing bleeding into his chest. It slipped and slid under my hand, but I managed to pry it loose as Duncan hissed in agony. Blood flowed until I pulled one of the narrow strips of hot iron from the fire and yelled at the men, “Hold him still,” and inserted it under the rib. Duncan screamed and tried to thrash as his flesh sizzled, but in his weakened state, he was no match for Jamie and Murtagh. When I pulled the iron free, the bleeding had abated. I slipped the reed into the opening, accessing the pleural space, and used my needle and thread to close the wound around it. 

Through his pain, Duncan croaked, “What're ye doing?”

I smiled at him with a calm that I did not feel and explained, “If I don't put this on, air or more blood will fill the space around your lung.” I packed a poultice around the reed and attached the empty waterskin to the end, creating a vacuum to prevent blood and air from accumulating around his lung. Then I bound the entire contraption to his chest with strips of linen. 

As I lay him back to rest, Duncan returned my smile. “ _ Aingeal _ ,” he breathed again, squeezing my hand. 

“Don’t try to talk, Duncan. Just breathe.” 

Angus knelt beside us. “‘Tis a miracle. Ye brought him back from the dead!”

“Not quite.” I shrugged, knowing that he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Despite the fact that he still breathed, he had lost quite a lot of blood, and his wound might easily become infected. Not to mention the fact that my makeshift chest tube could fail at any moment. Now I turned to Willie, who had watched the entire thing in silent awe. “I’m sorry if that frightened you, Willie. Can I examine you now?”

He didn’t respond in any way. I wasn’t certain he had heard me at all.

Angus turned to the lad and reassured him, “She'll help ye, ken.” Then he turned to me and explained, “Willie’s said nay a word since the battle. It was too much for 'im, poor lad, even afore he was struck on the head. It went badly for him. Lost his only living uncle on the first charge, then both his cousins soon after, right on either side of him. Later he was fighting back to back with one of his late mother's kin, a boy he grew up with. They was two parts to a whole, ye ken? He ducked to get away from a bayonet, and it went right through the other lad. He was tryin' to drag the body off the field when a redcoat got him with the butt of his musket. Duncan and I barely got him away. ‘Twas when we were draggin’ him off the field that Duncan took the musket ball. Bloody and brutal, all of it. I'm the only kin Willie has left now."

He wasn't the first shell shocked soldier I'd seen, far from it, but I hoped he would be the last. I approached him the same way Jamie approached a skittish horse. "Willie? It's Claire Fraser. I'm going to help you, alright?” 

I was able to administer some willow bark to Willie for his pain. Poppy would have been more effective, but I was worried that if I oversedated him, he might never wake up. To distract him from the sting of my needle, I told him an edited version of my adventures in Egypt with my Uncle Lamb. The cadence of my voice seemed to calm him, and I was able to suture closed his jagged scalp wound. I gently washed his hair free of blood and grime with warm water heated over the fire, and he sighed in relative contentment and fell promptly asleep. "There. Not so pretty, but it will do." When I turned round, I realized that though Willie may have been delirious enough not to understand a word I had said, the other men certainly had. 

Duncan softly told Jamie, “Your wife, she's something else...”

I shushed him, surprised he was still awake. He was blinking at me with glassy eyes and a drugged smile on his lips. “Don't try to talk. Just rest.”

Angus asked, "A verra strange tale. Is any of it true, Mistress?"

"Yes, quite," I answered while I sterilized my instruments. "I had a rather non traditional upbringing."

He muttered under his breath, "I suppose that explains things a little."

"It's how I picked up so much information about herbs and their uses. Wherever we travelled, I'd pick any stem, leaf, or berry I could get my hands on, and ask the local guides what they were for. They often steered me toward their shamans and healers, and I learned a lot that way."

"Speaking of healing, do ye think Willie’ll get blood poisoning from the wound, Sassenach?" Jamie asked. Though I had stemmed the blood loss, he was still in grave danger. 

"Hopefully not. Scalp wounds bleed quite a lot, which in and of itself is bad, but it helps flush the wound clean. I’m less worried about infection than I am about concussion." At their blank looks, I corrected myself. "The head injury. I don't know how severe it is, underneath the skull. And I haven't seen the rest of him yet." They helped me undress him and roll him over, and I discovered several other nasty bruises, plus a shallow but rather jagged-looking cut on his flank. It had scabbed over, but the skin surrounding it already looked inflamed. I cleaned it as best I could and applied an onion poultice, but it worried me more than the scalp wound. "We'll have to keep a close eye on this. He'll need to keep it clean."

Now that the most urgent business was complete, Angus had questions. I insisted on examining him as well, which he submitted to only in order to stop my pestering. Jamie paced back and forth as I worked and paused over the body. “What happened to Hugh?” he asked.

I had almost forgotten the man was there. I hadn’t known him well, in fact, had only met him in passing during my stay at Leoch. I dimly recalled a dour, serious man with a perpetual frown on his face. Angus sighed heavily. “We werena fightin’ together, but I saw him cut down at least three redcoats. Lost sight o’ him during the battle, but we found ‘im in the woods as we were fleeing. Had a great gash in his arm. Bound it up best I could, but we had nothing to close the wound, and he slipped away this afternoon.”

“Had he any family?” I asked, wishing we had arrived in time to help him. “Any children?”

“No children. Just a wife. A widow now, I suppose. You’ll remember her, Jamie.” I glanced up at my husband as Angus spoke. “Mrs. Fitz’s granddaughter, Laoghaire.” 

I startled at the name, but Jamie’s expression didn’t shift. He wore the same somber mask he had borne since we found the MacKenzies. He murmured, “There will be many widows now, I expect.”

As I cleaned a series of shallow gashes on Angus’s forearms, he asked us, "Now then, where ha' ye been? No one’s seen ye since before the battle, since before your uncle Dougal was found. Do ye ken what happened to him?"

"Aye." Jamie narrowed his eyes, examining Angus. What answer was he expecting? Under my hands, my patient’s body was weary and mournful, not tense. His sword lay far out of reach, though his dirk was in his belt, and he leaned heavily against the wall behind him. Was it really possible that he didn’t know what had happened to Dougal? Had Willie not condemned us the moment we were out of sight? Was Angus truly unaware? Or was he feeling us out? Perhaps he simply realized that he was effectively outnumbered by Jamie and Murtaugh, since Willie and Duncan would be no help in a fight. I collected my things and shifted to the side to clean them. Jamie shifted his glance to Murtaugh, who was seated next to Willie and behind Angus. The older man nodded and put his hand on his hilt. Jamie took a deep breath, then spoke calmly and clearly. "Aye. I ken that he's dead, because I'm the one killed him."

Angus’s jaw dropped open, and he stared forward blankly. “You?” From his shocked expression, it was clear that this was news to him. Duncan struggled to sit up, but even with the laudanum, he was in too much pain to move.

Jamie didn't move, but faced Angus calmly. “Aye. I did.”

"Why? For God’s sake, why?" An expression of furious realization dawned on his face, and he jumped up to face me. He reached for his dirk and aimed it at me, but Jamie was faster than he. With the tip of Jamie’s sword at his throat, and Murtagh’s only inches from his spine, he couldn’t get within two feet of me. He snarled at me, "’Tis true, then? Ye were always an English spy?"

I told him, “No, I never was.”

“But Dougal thought so,” Jamie explained. “And what ye’re doin’ right now? That’s what got him killed, ken? Drop the blade!” he commanded.

Angus clenched his jaw in frustration and shook his head. “No! Do ye think me a fool? You’ll cut my throat the second I do!”

“You are a fool if you think you can threaten my wife,” Jamie growled and pressed the tip of his sword into Angus’s flesh. “We can behead ye right now if we choose, and ye’d never have a chance to get that thing close to her. Now put it down and listen. You wouldn’t ha’ known I’d killed Dougal if I hadna just told you, aye?”

Reluctantly, he admitted, “Aye.” His dirk wavered in the air. 

“And if I’d wanted ye dead, I’d ha’ run ye through when I came in the door, aye? And if we wanted all o’ ye dead, Claire wouldna ha’ bothered savin’ Duncan and Willie just now, aye?”

A hard sigh passed through Angus’s lips. “Aye.”

“So put that down and listen.” When Angus tucked his dirk back into his belt, Jamie sheathed his sword, but Murtagh remained behind him with his own sword close at hand. Then Jamie proceeded to tell Angus exactly what had transpired, even revealing our debate about trying to prevent the battle by poisoning Prince Charlie. He said that we had decided against it, but Dougal had overheard us, burst in, and tried to kill me. “I had no choice but to protect my wife. We tried to talk to him, reason with him, but he wouldna listen. When he attacked Claire, I did what was needed. Nothing more.”

Angus slammed his fist on the ground in frustration. “But why, Jamie?  _ A Dhia m’ anam! _ ” He pointed at me accusingly. “Ye are a Scot, through and through! I ken why yer Sassenach wench wanted to kill the Prince, but…”

“Dinna call her that!” Jamie growled and launched himself at Angus. 

Duncan and I lifted his hand and interjected, “Calm yerself, Angus.” Apparently saving his life had garnered me some measure of trust. “Let them speak.”

I jumped forward to pry Jamie off before he could do any real damage, and interjected, “I may not be a Scot, Angus, but this is my home. This man is my husband, and he is my home. His kin are my kin. I could not bear to see them harmed, to see any of you harmed. And it did not take the Sight to predict a loss, a death blow to the Cause, did it not? Did you march on the Moor for victory? Or did you march for Scotland, for honor, for loyalty, for your clan?”

“Dinna speak to me of loyalty, witch!” Angus yelled.

Duncan raised his arm again. “Leave her be, man!”

“Why do ye think we decided not to kill Prince Charlie!” Jamie retorted. “If we ha’ tried, do ye think we’d be sittin’ here right now tellin’ you all about it? No. But we thought about it, aye. ‘Tis no’ a crime to think about ways to prevent a war, to prevent death, to want to keep the blood of yer kin and yer men from soakin’ the ground.”

I settled Duncan back down and turned to Angus. “You were there. You saw what happened. You know better than we do. If you thought there was a way you could have prevented it, wouldn’t you have at least considered it? Wouldn’t you owe it to yourself, to your people? If you’d known exactly what would happen to Hugh, to Willie, to his uncle, to his cousins, to his friend?”

Softly, Duncan added, “To me,  _ mo caraid _ ?” I tried to keep him from speaking, but he was as stubborn as any other Scot. Slowly and deliberately he continued, stopping for a breath after every other word. “We kent the battle was lost before Prince Charlie sent us into it. We should ha’ stopped when we won Scotland for the Stuarts, but no. ‘Twas Prince Charlie’s greed led me to my death, but ‘twas Mistress Claire brought me back.”

Angus was silent for a time, and he would not meet my eyes, but eventually he acquiesced. “I saw it coming. I knew what would pass, though I didna want to believe it. I’d seen the condition of the men, the hunger, the bone-deep weariness. No supplies, no food, no sleep. Swords against rifles. Axes against cannons. Aye. He sent us into a hopeless battle.”

Jamie added, “Haven’t you ever wondered to yourself if it wouldn’t be better to let the kings fight their own battles, man to man, and leave us all out o’ it? Every man to e’er wield a sword against another, for the cause of someone else’s throne, ha’ done so. Well, Claire and I, we made the mistake to say those words out loud, apparently where Dougal could hear. I had the gall to say I didna want to watch my kin, my clan, my men, fall to their deaths beside me, all for some other man’s dreams of power. Treason, I suppose, just to say it. Even though we agreed neither of us had the stomach to do it. So Dougal attacked my wife, and…”

“Aye, I see. I can guess the rest.” Angus waved his hand, not wanting to hear more. After a deep sigh, he murmured, “And having lived through the battle, having seen what I’ve seen… I wish you’d ha’ done it instead of talkin’ uselessly about it. So much blood… Aye. So ye werena there at all? Did ye run?”

We told them the rest, that Jamie meant to hide me somewhere safe and return to battle, but that we had encountered several redcoats and that I had been captured. The usually impassive Murtagh stepped in to tell the tale of how the Fraser men had infiltrated the English camp to free me. Angus and Duncan were suitably impressed, particularly when they learned how many redcoats Jamie had killed single handedly. And when they heard how Jamie had stabbed Jack Randall in the heart, Angus clapped him on the shoulder. “Weel, m’lad, perhaps we should ha' gone wi' you instead of marching on the Moor. Though we managed to take out quite a few of them bastards afore we had to stop to pull young Willie off the field."

We both wondered if Willie had told anyone about us and Dougal, but we did not ask. We would wait until he woke up. Had he inexplicably kept our secret for us? Perhaps. He obviously hadn't told Angus. Might there be other MacKenzies hunting us now? 

Jamie asked after the rest of the clan and received mixed news. Without Dougal to lead them, the men could not come together in any order. Those most loyal to him had stayed to fight, but the men whose sympathies had lay with Colum were not enthusiastic. Some had always been indifferent to the cause; others lost their enthusiasm from famine and exhaustion. Angus suspected that many had deserted before the battle, but he couldn't be sure. Of those who stayed, they confirmed the deaths of dozens of clansmen, and of the rest, they knew nothing. 

We talked late into the night, though Duncan fell asleep, exhausted. The rest of us debated the next course of action. Angus wanted to take Willie back to Leoch and tend to the spring planting, but we warned him against this course of action. I, of course, I had already told Jamie of how the English would ravage the Scottish countryside, avenging themselves on any they considered to be traitors. I told Angus I had overheard English plans for revenge on captured Jacobites while trapped in their camp. Most known to have fought at Culloden would be executed summarily, though some would be tortured for information, while the rest would be imprisoned or send to the colonies. They absorbed this grim information with the stoicism I had to come to expect from Scots. In the end, we agreed that I would do everything in my power to help Willie and Duncan, and when they were strong enough, we would try to make our way out of the country, to France, perhaps, or Italy. We had no idea how to manage such a feat, but there seemed little other choice.

After that, we settled down to sleep. Murtagh put out the fire for safety. Angus was asleep before Jamie even finished opening our bed roll. We lay down together, Jamie wrapped protectively against my back, his hand resting on my still-flat belly. I felt him ease into unconsciousness very quickly, but I stared into the dying embers for a long time, the sounds of the storm and my unquiet mind keeping me from rest.

Were it not for the raging storm, we would have set up a watch, but conditions were too dangerous outside to send anyone out to stand guard. Likewise, the howling wind and battering hail meant we heard no one approach. So when, an hour later, the door burst suddenly open, we were taken unawares. Jamie leapt over me and landed in a crouch, wielding his sword to protect me. Angus grabbed his axe, and Murtaugh his sword. But none of these weapons would protect us against the pistols aimed at our heads.   
  
Redcoats had found us.    
  



	2. Traitors

"Drop your weapons, or you will be shot.”

The man who had spoken was no ordinary soldier. His uniform indicated that he was a major. He strode forward purposefully, and his voice was calm and direct. Half a dozen redcoats flanked him, and I could see more outside. We were outnumbered, and badly. We might be able to cut one or two down before we died, but there was no way we could take them all out. Jamie carefully placed his sword on the ground, but he remained protectively crouched in front of me. Angus and Murtaugh followed suit.

The officer introduced himself. "I am Lord Melton, Major in his Majesty's army." He reached into his pocket and produced a well worn sheet of parchment. "I have here an order from the Duke of Cumberland that all who fought at Culloden… well now, what's this?" He had spotted me. “A woman!"

I rose and stepped out from behind Jamie, attempting to smooth my skirts. "Lord Melton," I greeted him simply. Jamie shifted, trying to stay in front of me.

"An Englishwoman!" The officer raised his pistol directly at my husband’s head. "It's all right, madam. You're safe now. Come with me."

He thought I had been captured, and likely molested, by the Scots, who, though they had yet to say anything, were quite apparent by their dress. Jamie nodded brusquely and cleared his throat. To my surprise, instead of continuing to shield me bodily, he stepped aside and said, “Go wi’ yer countrymen, then. I will hold ye no longer.”

I knew what he was doing, but I would have none of it. He thought he could keep me safe by handing me over, by feigning that he had captured me. I would look like a victim rather than a conspirator. I might be safe, even if he was condemned. But I had resolved not to leave him. "I shall do no such thing! I am no prisoner!"

Jamie turned to me with pleading eyes. "Claire, go wi’ him. You’ll be safe."

I reached for his arm. "I'm not leaving you, and that's final."

Lord Melton lowered his gun, raising a brow skeptically. "You are not a prisoner, then? Have you been harmed?"

"I am his wife. He would never hurt me."

Lord Melton pursed his lips and looked me up and down. "A traitor, then. Very well." 

He gestured to his soldiers and told them to tie us up. One of them briefly examined Hugh’s body, but finding it lifeless, covered it and stepped back. Jamie growled and started toward the man who approached me, while I tried to pull him back to me. We were outnumbered, and furious though he was, I knew he had no chance of taking down all our opponents.

It was Angus who intervened. "Actually, they are innocent." He pointed to Willie and Duncan, who still lay on the floor, unable to rise. "These men and I, aye, we fought on the Moor. We took up arms against the English king, because he has no rights to this land, no rule over us. But these others? They are loyal to your crown. Tried to stop the Stuarts, and conspired to kill the Bonnie Prince, they did."

Jamie, Murtagh, and I all gaped at Angus with identical expressions of shock. Lord Melton shared our surprise. In confusion, he looked back and forth between us. "What? You what?”

Duncan coughed weakly and added, “‘Tis true, what he says.”

I couldn't think of anything to say besides, “We didn't succeed, obviously.”

“Explain yourselves!” he demanded. 

Murtagh and I both looked to Jamie, who carefully chose his words. "My loyalty lies to my men, to those who consider me Laird, to my kin, to my people, to my land. I hold no love for King George. But I could not stand idle and watch my land ravaged by war, lead my men into a hopeless battle, widow all their wives, leave their children fatherless. I kent that if I led my men to battle at Culloden, most would not leave the field alive. So we tried to stop it, but we failed.”

Melton asked, “Tried to stop it how?”

“My wife, my kinsman, and I, we lived in Paris for a time, and became acquainted with the court. We were known to Prince Charlie. He came to trust us. We discouraged him from returning to Scotland, and indeed, tried to thwart his plans, but he did what he liked. When he claimed the throne of England, he signed my name to the letter. I didna do that myself, and he gave me no choice. He made me a traitor whether I willed it or no. So when he called us to fight, I came, and I brought my men. But before the battle, I sent them all away. Told them to make their way home. Ye shallna find any men from Lallybroch who fought at Culloden.”

Lord Melton waved a hand at us. Though Jamie’s prime concern was the fate of his men, the officer hardly cared, and the name Lallybroch meant nothing to him. “Wait. But what about conspiring to kill the Prince? What of that?”

Jamie looked to me, and I nodded. There was nothing to do but tell the truth. He continued, “As I said, my concern lies with my countrymen, my kin, my land. I didna want to see it ravaged by war. I kent that the clans would fall at Culloden. There hasn’t been enough food, enough men, enough weapons, for weeks. I could send my men away, but not the others. The only thing that could stop the battle was to stop the Prince. 'Twas his battle, his desire for power, that brought war upon us. The only way to stop the battle was to stop him, or King George. And I only had the ear of one of those men. So my wife and I, we talked about poisoning him. We were o’erheard. Had to fight our way free, and we fled. Picked up my kinsman Murtagh on the way.”

He deliberately left out everything regarding my capture by Jack Randall, and the rescue from the English camp. God willing, none of the English knew what had happened, or that we were involved.

Melton narrowed his eyes at us. “If any of that is true, then what are you doing here?” He looked at the injured men in the corner. “What are you doing here together?”

Now Angus answered, "The woman, she is a healer. Helping us, she was."

Melton looked totally flummoxed. "But why? I do not understand why!"

Jamie answered, “These men here, though we found ourselves on opposite sides, are my mother’s clan. I am loyal to them, not to Prince Charlie, and not to King George. So when we found each other here by chance, my wife did what she could to help. Though she would have done the same for a stranger, or for her worst enemy, as healing is her calling."

Lord Melton looked at Jamie for a long time before he finally spoke up. But rather than address him, he stopped over to Willie, knelt down, and asked the young man, "You received your wounds in the recent battle, did you not?" Willie only blinked up at him dumbly. “And the woman, she helped you?"

Angus answered for him. "The boy hasna spoken for days. But aye. Mrs. Fraser is a bonny healer.”

Duncan added, “Saved both our lives, ye ken.”

At this, Melton’s head whipped round again. "Fraser, you say?" He whirled on Jamie. "Sir, you are Fraser?"

Solemnly, Jamie answered, "James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, Laird of Broch Tuarach."

Lord Melton went pale. "Dear God! You’re Red Jamie, aren't you? And your English wife…" He began to pace in the small space available. Again he ordered the soldiers to tie us up, and told us that we would be transported to the English camp for further questioning once the storm passed.

The soldier questioned the order. "But sir, we have authorization for execution. Why transport them back?"

Sternly, Melton replied, "Are you disobeying a direct order?" The other man stammered without answering. Melton pointed at Angus and Duncan. "These men obviously have information, and apparently are willing to share it. They must be interrogated.” Then he glanced at Willie. "But that one, on the other hand…"

Jamie interrupted swiftly, "Is a witness. If it's a man with information you're looking for, ye should consider keeping him alive too. He saw me...” 

Melton cut him off, wanting silence while we were within earshot of one another. He preferred to finish questioning us separately after he brought us back to camp. Angus and Willie were bound and taken to the opposite corner, leaving us with Melton and Murtagh. As a Fraser, who made it clear he was following his laird, he was allowed to stay with us.

The storm prevented immediate movement. In fact, the British soldiers had stumbled upon us while seeking shelter. It was only chance that they came across us as they did. Eventually the entire group made their way into the cramped space. We were packed in like sardines, leaving no room for private conversation, nor for the interrogation of potentially important prisoners of war.

As we waited, I saw and felt multiple eyes on me. Some were curious, some distrustful, others outright hostile. Some were frankly lustful, as they had been without female companionship for weeks or months. I glared back at them, but that only made the leering worse, which in turn, brought up Jamie's hackles. Though there was hardly room for it, he made a space for me to lie down, then placed himself in front of me once again as guard. Despite holding no weapons, from the expression on his face, I did not doubt that he would kill any man who tried to touch me.

I dozed fleetingly until the storm abated, rising once in the night to check on my patients. The first rays of sunlight were yet to break the clouds, but the soldiers itched to leave. Most of them had spent the night standing or sitting, as there wasn't room enough to sleep, and they were eager to stretch their legs. 

The storm left significant damage in its wake. In the nearby forest, we saw uprooted trees and branches flung everywhere. The flimsy looking shack behind the main house was gone entirely. The English had lost one of their horses, which had run off sometime during the night, but the rest were unharmed in what remained of the barn. Part of the structure's roof had collapsed, landing on their supply wagons. Thankfully, no one had been underneath it when it fell.

They wanted to leave immediately, but Jamie and Angus demanded time to bury Hugh’s body. Between that plus the delay from uncovering the half-buried wagons, it was afternoon by the time we were ready to depart. Angus, Duncan, and Willie were placed in one wagon, bound. I insisted on changing their bandages before we left, and was allowed to climb up beside them with fresh strips of linen. For the first time, I saw recognition in Willie’s eyes, though he still said nothing. I smiled gently at him and whispered, “Just tell them the truth when they ask,” and squeezed his hand. Melton tried to move me back to the wagon with Jamie, but I insisted on traveling with Duncan. Being jostled by the wagon’s movements would surely displace his drain, and I needed to sit with him to keep it in place. Otherwise I feared that his pleural space would once again fill with blood or air and crush his lung. 

Jamie fought to stay with me but wasn't allowed. He and Murtaugh were placed, also bound, in the back of another wagon. Lord Melton rode with them, and on the way to the English camp, he continued his interrogation. 

The going was very slow due to the condition of the roads. Two of the wagons became hopelessly mired in mud. By nightfall, we still had not reached the main English camp. The soldiers set up tents by a stream. I insisted on tending to my patients’ wounds again. I had managed to keep Duncan’s drain mostly in place, and I had to change his poultice, though I needed to dose him with poppy for the pain. The drug made him pliable and lowered his inhibitions. He gently pulled my hand to his lips and left a kiss there, murmuring, “Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Fraser. I saw the devil at Culloden, and he wore red. I kent he came to take me. But then ye appeared, and I know ye are an angel, sent to me by God…”

Angus snorted and rolled his eyes, and I knew he did not share Duncan’s sentiment, but I saw the small smile he tried to hide behind his beard. I quietly cleaned and changed his dressings and turned my attentions to Willie. The lad’s head wound was painful but otherwise looked fine. The gash on his flank, though, looked redder and more swollen than it had earlier. I washed it as best I could with water boiled from the stream and applied a fresh poultice, and wished for the hundredth time that I had penicillin available to me. As I lowered his shirt back into place, Willie reached for my hand and squeezed it, though he said nothing.

On the other side of the fire, Jamie was deep in conversation with Lord Melton. He had told him the truth, more or less, excepting my rescue from the English camp and the death of Jack Randall. The officer feigned objective detachment, but I could tell from the gleam in his eye that he was fascinated by Jamie’s tale. In particular, he seemed oddly interested in learning about Jamie's family. Apparently Dougal MacKenzie had been well known to the English, and the rift between him and his late brother was also known. Melton wanted to know the sentiments of the rest of the MacKenzie clan. Though the English victory at Culloden was definitive and brutal, the King was still concerned about remaining Jacobite sentiments throughout Scotland and did not want to deal with another uprising in the future, particularly in light of the fact that Charles Stuart had not been captured. Jamie told him, "’Tis true that we Scots hold no love for King George. And many do believe that the Stuarts are our rightful kings. But you ken it as well as I do, that the business of kings and princes is nothing compared to putting food in yer weans’ mouths, tending your lands, protecting your wife. Folk were loyal to Colum because he was a good Laird, fair and just. And Colum always urged caution. He did not want to see his clan suffer over the whims of any king, pretender or no."

Melton considered this quietly as we sat by the fire, and eventually made a confession of his own. He turned Jamie. "As it turns out, sir, I owe you a debt. My given name is Harold Grey. I have a younger brother whom you met some time ago. I am not sure if you remember, but he was a young man who stumbled into your camp. You might have killed him, but you did not. Instead you let him go."

An involuntary smile spread across Jamie's face. "Aye, I remember him well. Foolish, he was, but brave, and honorable. How's goes the lad?"

"Still foolish, still brave, still honorable. You made quite an impression on him, you know. And now that I've met you, I understand why. You and your wife both. You’re apparently quite the actor.”

Jamie shrugged noncommittally. “He was frightened, as well he should have been, and impressionable.”

“Perhaps. But I don’t doubt that you are very good at projecting whatever image you like. Am I to understand that you fooled Prince Charles into thinking you are his man?” Jamie didn’t answer. This deviousness did not sit well with him, especially knowing that all such efforts were for naught. “Mr. Fraser, I owe you a debt for my brother’s life.”

I couldn't help but move toward my husband and ask, “What are you saying, Lord Melton?”

“If I am to do my duty, Mrs. Fraser, I should turn your husband over to the crown for execution as a notorious traitor. But the second I realized who he was, who you both were, I knew I could not, in good conscience, do so. But you understand that I cannot simply let you go. You would make it, what, a few miles before being captured by another patrol? Or if I were to aid you in an escape, where would you go? You cannot simply go home. And I cannot allow a known rebel to flee the country and reunite with the Jacobites in Paris or Rome. And yet, after you spared my brother, I cannot simply turn you over to be hanged.”

Jamie and I glanced at each other. “So what do you mean to do with us?” I asked. 

Grey leaned toward Jamie and looked him directly in the eye. “I have a proposal for you, and I would like you to hear me out. I might arrange for your freedom, but there would be a price. A high one.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes, intrigued but suspicious. “Which is?

“If what you’re telling me is true, your loyalist sentiments are known to none, save the men here.”

“I am no loyalist, but as for my beliefs, ‘tis true that no one else knows them.” Jamie admitted.

“And you are known to Charles Stuart, who incorrectly believes you to be loyal to him.”

A pit of discomfort settled in my stomach as understanding began to dawn on me. Before Grey could continue, I tried to stop him. The price was too high. Jamie was a man of conscience, and his conscience would not allow this. “No, that’s not possible.”

He eyed me coolly. “No? You considered it before.”

I argued, “Considered, yes. Not acted. When we had access to him, which we no longer do. Lord knows where he is now. And we considered it, yes, before the battle, to prevent it, to save lives. But there are no lives to save now.”

Grey retorted, “None but your own. Think about it. Your lovely wife here, you wish safety for her, do you not? For your kin, your tenants? The King would reward you well, were you to rid him of the rebellious Pretender. You and your family would be rewarded greatly. You say you want peace? After openly rebelling against the crown, do you honestly think the Jacobites will be left alone? Things will go badly for your people now. You know this. You can help them by helping the crown.”

“What exactly are you asking of me?” Jamie demanded.

Grey pursed his lips and sighed impatiently. “You know what I’m asking. He trusts you. You can find him. You can get close enough. Close enough to end his threat once and for all.”

Jamie slammed his fist into his thigh, finally understanding. “No. I am no murderer. Even if I wanted to, which I do not, I’ll no’ get close to Prince Charlie again. He’ll trust no one after Culloden, least of all me.”

Grey folded his arms over his chest. “Well then, if you won’t even consider it, you have nothing to offer the crown. And if you have nothing to offer the crown, the crown has nothing to offer you but the noose.”

“Hang me, then!” Jamie roared. “Better to die here on Scottish soil than be run through by one o’ Charlie’s guards, anyway. Even if I wanted to do as ye asked, I’d never make it out alive.”

While Jamie and Grey debated, Duncan, who had been silently listening, began coughing and tried to sit up. “Mistress, I need ye…”

I moved around the fire to him while Grey and Jamie kept debating. “What is it? Is it hard to breathe? Are you in pain?”

“Here. I canna breathe. ‘Tis hard to talk…” His voice dropped to a whisper, and he gestured for me to lean in. As I placed my ear close to his mouth, he began to whisper, and much to my shock, he told me a shocking secret. But I did not know whether his secret was cursed, or if it would save us all. 

 


	3. Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter of Survivors is all about Nurse Claire and Jealous Jamie. For those of you who need to avoid this kind of thing at work (or for those of you who want to skip straight to it), basically the last third is just smut ;)

We arrived in the main English camp the next day, having been delayed behind Angus, Duncan, and Willie by a broken wagon wheel. Thankfully, this was a different regiment than the one to which Jack Randall had belonged, and no one recognized me as his escaped prisoner, nor Jamie and Murtagh as my rescuers. Lord Melton left us under the protection of a young officer. I had met Jeremy Foster before, first encountering him while we were collecting rents for Colum, and then when he brought me to Brigadier General Lord Oliver Thomas. I had not expected to see him again, but he had been transferred to Grey’s regiment when he was promoted to Captain. I was startled by the sight of the gallant young man who had once displayed concern for my well being, but not, I think, as much as he was to see me. He still had no idea what to make of me, but looked pleased nonetheless. “Mistress, we meet again.” He bowed deeply and with a charming smile.

Behind me, Jamie growled, “Missus. Mrs. Fraser, to be exact.”

Captain Foster glanced at Jamie as if he had somehow managed not to notice the enormous, flame-haired warrior looming over me. He nodded his head politely. “Mr. Fraser. Good day. I am Captain Foster. Lord Melton asked me to see to you and your companions while he is gone.”

Jamie snapped, “We need no looking after. We’ll be fine on our own.”

Foster simply arched one brow. “Perhaps you have no regard for yourself, but I should think you might hold your wife’s safety of higher import.”

Jamie stepped in front of me, clenching his fists. “Excuse me? Are you threatening my wife?”

“Don't be ridiculous! She, like you, is under my protection. And considering that you are a well known Jacobite rebel encamped in the middle of the English army, surrounded by enemy soldiers who haven't seen a beautiful woman for months, perhaps you should take her safety a little more seriously.” As Jamie fumed, Foster continued, “Now, Mrs. Fraser. I believe you wanted to tend to Misters Kerr and MacKenzie. I shall escort you to them.” Jamie moved to follow, but Foster waved him off. “I believe the other Mr. Fraser asked for you, sir. I last saw him by the mess tent.”

Jamie stormed off in the other direction, but not before grabbing me round the waist and kissing me soundly on the mouth. “I shall find ye directly after, Sassenach.” I grabbed my medical bag, willing the flush in my cheeks to cool.

As he led me in the other direction, Foster gave me a sidelong glance. “I hope you will forgive me, Mistress, for my little deception. I wanted to speak with you for a moment.”

I immediately halted. “Willie and Duncan aren’t waiting for me?”

“Oh, they asked after you this morning. The older gentleman was hoping you could check that thing on his chest, and the young one looks rather piqued today, rather pale. Mr. Fraser, though…”

“Murtagh isn’t looking for him, is he?” I had half a mind to chase after Jamie, but I needed to check on my patients.

Foster chuckled. “If he was, he certainly wouldn’t tell me. I don’t think I’ve heard that man speak five words since he arrived. No, I beg your pardon. It’s only that, well, I’ve never managed to speak with you without one of your guards present.”

I pointed out, “You mean, like you? Are you not my guard right now?”

Now he gave me a wry smile in response. “Touche, Mrs. Fraser. Forgive me. I’m simply concerned for your welfare. I have been ever since the first time I saw you.”

“I remember. You asked after my safety. I did appreciate your concern.”

“Though you were rather hesitant in your reassurances to my inquiry.”

I tried to feign ignorance, but the truth was that I remembered it well. If I hadn’t thought the young Mr. Foster was about to get himself killed by the MacKenzies, I would have gone with him. Back then, I was still trying to get back to the stones and to Frank. No longer. I had made my choice. “Was I? It was a long time ago. Well, thank you for your concern, Captain Foster, and for escorting me today.” 

I kept my eyes focused ahead, but couldn’t help but feel the stares of the soldiers as we passed. A few were curious, others angry, but many expressions I could not place. I was so preoccupied with the Redcoats that I didn’t see Foster putting his hand out to touch my elbow, and I startled at the contact. “Excuse my forwardness, Mrs. Fraser, but I have to ask. This marriage, did you consent to it? Because if you did not, I would like to help you.” I was so surprised by his question that I did nothing but stare blankly at him. Taking my silence as fear, he turned to face me and took one of my hands. “Your husband does not strike me as the sort of man to take ‘no’ for an answer. I failed you before, but we are no longer so desperately outnumbered. I can help you if you’ll let me.”

I stammered incoherently and pulled my hand back, finally recovering my voice. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I assure you, I’m quite all right. Now, where are Mr. Kerr and Mr. MacKenzie?”

He clearly didn’t believe me, but I didn’t know what to say to reassure him, and I quickly became distracted at the sight of Willie. He was covered with a thin sheen of sweat despite the cool temperatures, and his skin was clammy and pale. He shivered uncontrollably but muttered about being hot, and when I placed my hand on his forehead, I discovered a raging fever. When I rolled him over and unwrapped his side, I discovered the cause. The wound on his flank had coalesced into an ugly boil with thin red tendrils of infection spreading outward across his skin.

Angus told me, “He didna eat anything this morning, and he retched the little tea I tried to get him to drink.”

“This needs to be lanced,” I told Angus, then turned to Captain Foster and told him, “Thank you for getting me. I’ve got to let out the pus. Can you get me a pot of boiling water and a small, sharp knife?” All of our weapons had been confiscated, including the fine blade I kept in my kit. Foster left to find the requested pot, and Angus to find a dram for the lad. 

While we waited, I organized my things. I was surprised to hear Willie tentatively say my name. I had gotten used to his silence. His voice cracked with disuse. “Mrs. Fraser?”

“Willie? How do you feel? Is the pain quite bad? Does it hurt anywhere besides your side and your scalp?”

He waved a hand to shush me. “I’m fine, Mrs. Fraser. Or I will be, now that ye’re here. It’s only, I wanted to tell ye…”

He had already seemed to run out of words and trailed off, his glassy eyes staring at the clouds above. “Tell me what?” I prompted. I had to ask him twice more before he looked at me directly again.

“What? Oh, that. It’s only, weel, the business wi’ Dougal. I didna hear the beginning, whatever stramash started it.” 

I sat back on my heels. “Ah. The day Dougal died.”

“Aye.” He tried to sit up, but the pain got the better of him and he lay back. “I was in the hallway, ye ken.”

“How long were you there? What did you see?”

“When I arrived, I heard him say he’d cut your throat, and Jamie’s. I kent I ought to do something, ought to help, only I didn’t know who to help, or how. And then I heard Jamie trying to talk him out of it, but he wouldna listen. I… I didna think… I couldna move. I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do. And then you saw me. I… I kent that Jamie was only tryin’ to protect ye, and it didna seem as if Dougal gave him much of a choice. So I told no one what I'd seen. Of course, they wondered when they found him in your chambers, and perhaps were it not for the upcoming battle, they might ha’ mounted a search. But then, after Culloden, it didna seem to matter so much any more."

I placed my hand on his. "Thank you for your discretion, Willie."

"What Jamie did, weel… If ye were mine, I'd… I’d ha’ done the same,” he said shyly. I pressed a kiss to his hair, feeling oddly maternal. “And I owe you my life. Were it not for your care, I ken I'd be dead already, me and Duncan both. Afore ye closed that wound on me heid, I felt so weak. If I’d ha’ kept bleedin’, soon I would ha’ fallen asleep and no’ woken up again. So I thank ye. Although if you plan to stick a knife in my side, perhaps I should wish that you'd ha’ let me go."

I reassured him that he would feel much better after I drained the boil, though he didn't believe me. He did look more hopeful when Angus returned with a fortifying flask and drank what he could stomach of its contents. By the time Captain Foster returned with the requested equipment, I had a small fire going. I carefully boiled my instruments and fresh strips of linen, and without further ado, efficiently opened, drained, and packed Willie's abscess with sterilized linen. He bravely bore the discomfort, and he thanked me for my trouble.

Duncan lay nearby, and he had watched the entire proceedings with fascination. He still struggled to take a deep breath, and was pained by the presence of the drain in his chest, but his temperature and pulse were normal. Overall he looked somewhat improved. “How do you feel?”

“Och, I’ll do.” He smiled at me in a way that made me believe him. “But how long do I need all this?” He gestured to the waterskin strapped to him. 

I listened to his heart and lungs, cleaned off his poultice, and emptied the drain, pleased by the lack of pus and inflammation. Then I carefully reattached it to him and applied a fresh poultice. “It’ll be a couple more days. We want your lung to reinflate, so to speak, before we pull it.”

As I rose to leave, he whispered under his breath, “What I told ye, you told your husband?”

There were too many enemy witnesses for a real conversation. I patted his hand reassuringly and loudly declared, “Absolutely. Soon enough you’ll be right as rain.”

“Thanks to ye,  _ mo aingeal _ .” 

When I turned round, I realized I had gathered an audience. Amusements were lacking within the camp, so several bored infantrymen had decided to watch. One of them pulled me aside as I gathered my things to leave, asking me to come tend to his friend. Apparently the camp surgeon had ridden out the day before to assist an injured man in the field, leaving no medical personnel behind. I followed the young man, Captain Foster trailing at my heels with my things. The injured man had a simple dislocation of the finger, which I reset and splinted. 

Word had somehow spread that a healer was available, and someone else was waiting for me when I finished. His cheek was red and swollen, and I quickly identified a rotten tooth. By the time I finished pulling it, I had gathered a queue of prospective patients. I was surprised that they would allow a woman to tend to them, but apparently they were rather desperate. After seeing two men with injuries that had been festering for weeks, I learned that the usual surgeon had a rather deadly reputation. They had been avoiding him at all costs, and considering the standards of hygiene that most current-day physicians held, I couldn’t blame them. 

I lanced one more boil, but my next patient was of a different persuasion. I should have seen it coming when he asked me to look at a rash, particularly when he wanted to go into a tent to be examined. When he dropped his breeches to reveal nothing but his unwashed and unimpressive member, but no rash, I didn’t give him the reaction he was looking for. Instead of shrieking and covering my eyes, I loudly proclaimed that indeed, the shaft was an unfortunate location to have such a frightful looking growth, but that he needn’t worry. I could lop it off post haste with my knife, but unfortunately, there was nothing I could do to enhance his small size or fix the deformity of his head. On the other side of the canvas wall, his fellows cackled with laughter while Captain Foster tossed him out bodily, red faced with embarrassment. I followed them out, ruining my dignified exit by tripping slightly on a stray branch. Captain Foster caught me before I fell. 

As luck would have it, that was also the moment that Jamie found us. He spotted the unfortunate young soldier tucking himself back into his breeches. My irate husband grabbed him by his collar and threw him aside. "What have ye done to my wife? I'll kill ye, ye damned perverted bastard!" He cocked his fist back, but Captain Foster grabbed his wrist before he could slam it into the soldier’s nose. Jamie took this as an attack and whirled around. He pushed Foster back, yelling, "Get your hands off my wife! What's the meaning of this? You said ye were taking her to tend to Duncan and Willie, and yet I find her here, bein’ pawed at by strange men! Is this what ye call protection?"

I decided to intervene before things came to blows, before Jamie jeopardized the pardon he had yet to receive. In my best matronly nurse’s voice, I declared, "Jamie, darling, I've got it quite handled, thank you. He’s not the first soldier I've met with the maturity of a 12-year-old boy, though now that I've had a look under his breeches, I realize he's got a set of balls to match." 

Guffaws rang out behind me, and Jamie was so startled at my crude language that he released Captain Foster and gaped at me with a surprised, "Sassenach!"

"I believe I have a few more patients to attend to. Who's next?" 

For the rest of the afternoon, Jamie stood guard at my makeshift medical tent. He glowered at any man who approached, and in between, glared at Captain Foster. To Foster’s credit, he neither cowered beneath the hard gaze nor baited him. He simply stared coolly back. 

By suppertime, Jamie had worked himself into something of a frenzy. He was a man of action, of decisive thought and deed, but here, there was nothing for him to do. And while we were not shackled and bound, we were prisoners nonetheless. The English soldiers did not let us forget it. They roughly bumped Jamie's shoulder as they walked by or called him a barbarian under their breath. He had little choice but to endure it. The first man who made a lewd comment about me, though, almost had his shoulder dislocated when Jamie grabbed him and twisted his arm around his back. He let the fellow go after an apology to me, and after that, further disparaging remarks about my person were made outside of earshot.

When I finished seeing my last patient, he finally found an outlet for his frustrations. Me. I thought we were going to find food, but he steered me toward our tent. “Aren't you hungry?” I asked. I certainly was. 

“I'm ravenous,” he growled. Then he grabbed me roughly by the nape of my neck and pulled me in for a harsh, bruising kiss. “I’m starving for you, Sassenach. And I'll make certain you're satisfied as well.”

I panted into his cheek, dazed, before realizing we were still outside. We were gathering stares again. “Jamie, people are watching.”

“Good.” He kissed me again, simultaneously bending me backward so that he had to support me with his arms around my waist to keep me from falling. When we finally parted so that I could gasp for air, he softly bit at my lips. "Let them watch. Then they'll ken who's your master.”

He seemed inclined to take me out in the open just to prove his point. Between his kisses and the tenor of his voice, I was starting to want him as much as he wanted me, but not out here. “Take me inside.”

He grinned at me and steered me toward our tent, his big hand palming the small of my back. As soon as we entered, he spun me round, clutched me close, and descended on me once more.

When we parted, gasping for breath, he whispered against my mouth, “To whom do ye belong?”

"You," I breathed. Under other circumstances, I might have protested. But in his current mood, I knew he was not to be crossed. And truth be told, I liked him this way. 

Jamie growled, "I canna hear you. Say it louder. To whom do ye belong?"

"I belong to you!" I repeated.

He tossed his jacket on the ground. "Aye. You belong to me. I mean to make sure ye ken, and all of them out there." 

While he yanked at my laces, I repeated dumbly, "All of them?"

With a smirk, he freed my breasts and squeezed them roughly, making me gasp. "They dinna get to see you like this. Only I do. But I want there to be no question." Then he dropped to his knees, tugged me close, and took a nipple into his mouth. He suckled hard, drawing a moan from my throat. Still he wanted more, so next he used his teeth. I couldn't help but cry out, and he chuckled against my skin. "Just like that. Again." He repeated the same action on the other side, and I answered him with a whimper. I felt his lips stretch into a smile. "Oh, I like that one. I like that verra much." I reached out to try to unbutton his waistcoat, but he stopped me. "Not yet, lass. I'm no’ finished." He reached up my skirts and pinched my thigh, causing another little squeal. "Take off your clothes. I want to see you." As I wordlessly peeled off my layers, he leaned back to watch. His eyes grew heavy with lust, though the words he spoke were tender. “You are so beautiful,  _ mo ghraidh _ . What did I do to deserve you, that God should send to ye to me?"

I stood before him, soul and body bared. "Jamie..."

He swallowed thickly and reached for me. "Come here,  _ mo nighean donn _ ." He pulled me into his lap where he sat on our bedroll. One warm, large hand splayed across my back, and the other tangled in my hair so that he could bring my lips to his, and we drank deeply of each other. 

His hand trailed down my neck, over my shoulder, and down my chest. He paused to palm and squeeze my breast possessively before lightly running the tips of his fingers over my belly. Then he parted my thighs and proceeded to render me incoherent with his skilled fingers. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, cognizant of the fact that only a thin sheet of canvas separated us from the multitude of soldiers surrounding us. Jamie had other ideas, though. Much to my dismay, he stopped his ministrations and removed his hand in order to gently draw my lip away from my teeth with his thumb. "Don't. I want to hear you." Then he lay me back on the blanket.

Even if I wanted to remain silent, I couldn't. His touch was simply too skilled. He knew exactly what to do to make me lose myself, and with his mouth at my breasts and his hand between my legs, soon had me whimpering helplessly. I was embarrassed at my own neediness, but Jamie loved it. Satisfaction lit his eyes as he watched my response to his attention. He drew it out longer than I thought possible, refusing to let me reach completion. I squirmed and arched against his touch in desperation, trying to make him touch me the way I wanted, to no avail. I attempted to turn the tables on him and reached under his kilt, but he pushed me back..

By then I was desperate. "You promised to satisfy me, Jamie!"

His eyes gleamed, and he grinned at me. "I ken that. Having ye here like this pleases me greatly, so I'll do as I wish. But I promise you, I willna leave ye wanting. I’ll do it my way, though."

But still he kept me on the brink, refusing to let me climax. I finally was desperate enough to use my own hands. All I needed was one touch, just the right way. But he grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head with one large hand. “What did I tell you?” 

“You bastard!" I laughed helplessly.

“Are you sure you want to call me names right now?” He kissed me then, despite my giggles, chuckling gladly. All the while he kept teasing me between my legs. Eventually he buried his face in my hair and murmured, "Oh, Claire, I do love ye so."

I tried to free my wrists, but his grip was too firm. "Then why are you torturing me?" I gave up trying to use my hands but twisted my hips in a vain attempt to increase the friction at the juncture of my thighs.

He answered, "Ah, weel, three things. Sae that ye understand what I feel like each moment I'm with ye. ‘Tis the most blissful torture in the world, aye? And because I like ye like this. Lookin' at ye this way pleases me. Hold still, Sassenach." I obeyed as he finally released my wrists and rose off me, and he quickly removed his clothing. He positioned himself between my legs, but he didn't enter me. He simply continued his ministrations with his hand, watching me avidly as he he kept me right on the edge. 

I whimpered and pled, clutched at his wrist, and arched against him. It achieved nothing for me, though he loved it. My need for him was near to pain. Through my haze, I finally thought to ask, "And the third thing?"

Now he gave me a wicked smile. "When ye come apart, I want to feel it on my cock, no’ on my hand." And then he finally slid home. 

It was more than enough. It was everything. I had been so close for so long that I shattered instantaneously. All thought flew out of my brain, driven away by Jamie's mastery of my body. Though I had lost my wits, he was fully in control. As I writhed uncontrollably, he held still, enjoying the sights, sounds, and sensations of the wild woman underneath him. "Aye,” he crooned. “Just like that. Just like that.” I could only answer with a keening wail.

When I finally returned to myself, I found him staring down at me with love and lust in equal measure. "Dear God, Jamie." My voice was raw and dry.

He answered in a low rumble. "I want to make ye do that again." He held me firmly by my hips, keeping me exactly where he wanted me, and began a series of deep thrusts. His tempo was slow but insistent. His movements were deliberate and measured, carefully designed to fulfill his stated purpose. He carefully held himself in check. I could see it in the way he clenched his jaw and the way the ropes of muscle stood out in his neck. If I did nothing but lie back and accept his advances, I would surely be pleased. But I wanted more. I wanted everything. I wanted him wild. I wanted him as helpless as I had been minutes before. 

"Jamie, come here." I tried to draw him down to me so that I could flip us over.

He submitted to my kiss, but his own mouth was so possessive that I nearly forgot my intention. When I finally tried to turn, he resisted me. "No, I need ye under me."

“Then please,” I begged. “Let go. Let go.”

With a guttural roar, he did. He was relentless. Primal. I knew I’d have bruises in the morning where he held me still. It was all I could do to hold on. I clawed at his back and dug my fingers into his buttocks, while he grabbed my hair to pull my head back. He somehow managed to suckle at the soft skin of my neck while ramming into me. When he loomed over me to look at the mark he had made, his face transformed into a feral mask. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out but a growl. He seemed to have lost all language. He finally gave up trying to speak. He simply flipped me over, roughly pulled me into position, slapped my buttock with the flat of his hand, and buried himself inside me again. He resumed his punishing rhythm at once.

When he finally spoke, it was strangled, and he could only manage one syllable. “Mine… mine… mine!”

Between his words, his body, and his heart, I was helpless to resist. Jamie bent over me, swept my hair over my shoulder, and sank his teeth into the skin at the nape of my neck. I was overcome, and this time, I took him with me. We reduced each other to our animal selves.

Afterward, collapsed into a tangle of sweat and limbs, I tried to catch my breath. The weight of Jamie on my back and the slight sting of my neck reassured me that I wasn’t dreaming. He extended one long arm over mine and twined our fingers together, humming in contentment. 

Which was the only thing that kept me from rolling over and punching him when I realized that the roaring in my ears wasn’t roaring at all, but the soldiers outside our tent applauding us.


	4. Deal with the Devil

Jamie gripped the blanket in his hands, wanting to tear it in frustration. “I canna believe what you’re asking of me, Claire! I won't do it!” 

Claire leaned over him and whispered, “What other choice do we have? If you don't, you’ll be hanged for treason!” 

He pointed out, “Grey owes me a debt, and I mean to collect on it.”

“Yes, but even if he lets us run, how far could we possibly get? Where could we go? How could we get to France? The English will be searching every port, every ship. We’d most likely get caught, and that means execution. Or if we try to stay in Scotland, if we return to Lallybroch, all we’ll do is put your family in danger. Even if we can hide there, the English will ravage the countryside. We wouldn’t be able to help them, not in hiding. But with a pardon, we might actually be of use to them.” He didn’t answer her, but only stared into the darkness. She felt him acquiescing to her logic, though he hated it. So she used his silence to remind him of what he could not deny. “And even if he lets us go, what will become of Angus? Of Willie and Duncan? They'll be executed.” 

Jamie sighed heavily and cupped her cheek in his hand. Her skin was so perfect, so smooth. “Duncan already calls you his angel,  _ mo nighean donn _ . He’s right to do so, I suppose. Though you're my angel, no’ his.”

She kissed his palm, and he let out a small, pleased sigh. “I’m no angel. I was just able to help this time, that’s all. I can't always. We were lucky. Besides, even if we didn't think about them, we only have months before the baby comes. I’m not afraid of living rough, but what about our child? What kind of a life will we give our child as fugitives?” 

“That's not fair, Sassenach,” he sighed, fingering a loose curl of her hair. It was pretty when carefully coiffed, but he loved it this way, riotous and wild. “How am I supposed to argue wi’ that?”

He heard the smile in her voice, though it was too dark for him to see it. “You're not.”

She dipped down for a kiss, and he almost forgot what they were discussing, so warm and soft were her lips. But reality niggled in his brain. “But I canna murder the man in cold blood. Not now, not when it willna save any lives but our own. If we couldna do it then, I can't do it now.”

“I don’t want you to,” she told him gently. She ran her fingers through his hair soothingly, making him purr like a cat. “It would eat at you, poison your soul. No. We deceived him before with good intentions, but revenge on behalf of the crown? I would never ask you do do such a thing. I don’t even think you should spy on him. It’s simply too dangerous, and there’s no reason. They may not know it, but the Stuarts aren’t a threat to them, not any longer. Just take the opportunity to get away.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist to secure her as close to him as possible. “I won’t do that, not without you. What’s the point of escaping’ if you're no’ with me? They’ll take it out on you, Claire.”

“You have to leave me behind. First, because Grey will never let me come with you, and second, because that is exactly why they’ll trust us, and why they’ll take our deal.”

“You can't be certain. It’s such a risk. How can you expect me to leave ye here without me to protect ye?”

She kissed his neck, then did it a few more times for good measure, trying to distract him from his worries. “I know you, James Fraser, and I trust you. I trust us. And you will be protecting us. You'll be protecting our future.” Then she took his hand and placed it on her still-flat belly, and he acquiesced, powerless to resist the reality of their child. She was right. Dangerous though it was, this plan gave them the best chance to raise their family in safety.

“And I trust that God gave ye to me,  _ mo chridhe _ , and I will do everything in my power to keep ye. I don’t have the words to tell you just want ye mean to me, but let me show you.” Gently, he rolled her beneath him, and he showed her his true eloquence with his hands, his mouth, and his body.

* * *

 

Jamie buried his face in Claire’s loose hair and held her close, willing the scent of her to stay in his nose, and the feel of her body to remain in his hands after he left. “Please take care of yourself,  _ mo nighean donn _ . Dinna do anything foolish while I’m gone.”

She clung to him more tightly, trepidation making her voice waver. “And will you promise the same?”

“I promise to come back to you. For my sake, you must be here, unharmed, when I return.”

She answered him with a deep kiss and sent him on his way before they could change their minds. He despised riding away from her. Fear gnawed at the pit of his stomach, not for his own fate, but for his wife’s. After everything he had done to keep her safe, walking away from her, leaving her in enemy hands, no less, felt like a terrible mistake. But she was right. He would succeed, because he had no other choice. He would create a good life for her and the bairn, and he would do his best never to leave her again. He simply refused to believe in any other outcome.

Harold Grey rode with them to the edge of the field. “I’m placing a good deal of faith in you, Mr. Fraser.”

Jamie gave him a hard look and carefully chose his words. “And I in you. My wife is more precious to me than all the riches in the world, ken?”

“She will not be mistreated. I give you my word. Not to mention, she doesn't strike me as the sort of woman to simply tolerate just any sort of treatment.” They both glanced back at Claire, who was standing between Angus and Captain Foster at the border of the camp staring after them. 

Jamie clenched his jaw at the sight. The handsome young redcoat was touching her arm and bending down to say something to her. He wanted to ride back and break the man’s wrist. He was pleased, however, that Claire appeared to brush off whatever Foster said. She never even glanced at him, because her eyes were locked on Jamie. He held his open palm against his heart in a final gesture of farewell, and she did the same. To Grey, he smiled and chuckled, “Perhaps it's you I should be worried about.”

Riding with the company of redcoats for the next two days gave Jamie a new appreciation for the way Claire must have felt when the MacKenzies had first pressed her into traveling with them. The redcoats looked upon him with suspicion, mistrust, and outright hostility, much as the MacKenzies had looked at her. But they also had strict orders not to harm him. Claire, however, never had such reassurance. Indeed, the very first person she met after falling through the stones had tried to rape her. 

At least he had Murtaugh for now. Grey had wanted to send him to France alone, but he insisted upon bringing his kinsman. He needed a second set of ears to learn their secrets, and he required a trusted companion to return for Claire in the event that he was captured. Moreover, he made Grey promise to free her in the event that he was killed. The major reluctantly agreed. 

That night, as the redcoats divided up the watch and Jamie and Murtaugh lay down under their plaids, Jamie whispered, "You'll watch over her, aye? Keep her safe?"

Murtaugh's voice was rough and gravelly. "You'll do that yerself, lad." He could see Jamie's pointed look by the light of the waxing moon. "Aye, I'll let nothing happened to the lass."

Jamie thanked him with a nod. The older man seemed to fall asleep easily, while Jamie lay awake for hours, watching the stars emerge one by one. He wondered if Claire was watching the small lights just as he was.

They arrived in Edinburgh in the middle of a cold Scottish rain. His guards had been on high alert as they traveled. Their eyes were always on him. But in the city, they had no choice but to give him more freedom. If they simply arranged passage on his behalf and put him on a boat, he would immediately become known as a loyalist, in direct opposition to their goal of having him infiltrate the Jacobites in France. Therefore he was allowed to move about the city without the entire guard on his heels. They did assign him one French-speaking Scot, a loyalist to the crown, to accompany him to France to prevent his escape. Jamie explained that holding his wife was more than enough leverage to guarantee his cooperation, but understandably, they did not believe him. Therefore, Edward Clark escorted him everywhere.

Clark was generally forgettable in appearance. He was of middling height and bland looks, particularly while wearing civilian clothes rather than a conspicuous uniform. Moreover, while his father was an English officer, his mother was a Scot, and he had inherited her manner of speech. He easily passed for a Scottish Jacobite. Better yet, he bore a heavy purse filled with coin, which was put to good use for the journey. 

As far as Jamie was concerned, the purse was Clark's only redeeming value. He first caught sight of the man on the first day that Claire had attended to the English soldiers with her healing skills. He hadn't sought her help, but was one of the many onlookers who stopped to gawk at Red Jamie's wife. Jamie might not have specifically made note of him amidst the crowd were it not for the dark expression on his face as he watched Claire, an expression which did not soften during their stay. Unlike many of the other soldiers, who loudly jeered at, taunted, or otherwise harassed her, Clark did not say a word to her, or as far as Jamie knew, about her. But every time they turned around, he was there, somewhere on the periphery. Always, always he was staring at Claire, never at Jamie, and always with the same cold, hard expression. Little as he liked the man, Jamie was relieved when Clark was chosen to accompany him rather than remain anywhere near Claire. He wondered what the man would do when he executed his plan. It was one of his many reservations. Though technically he could still change course, he could see no other viable option. 

Clark took Jamie to three different taverns looking for a captain who would provide them passage. Major Grey had produced false identity papers for him and for Murtaugh. Clark claimed Jamie was his cousin, and that together with Jamie's godfather, they were leaving the country. Most of the captains asked too many questions, but they were able to secure transport in the third tavern from a red-faced, portly captain who was deep into his drink and concerned much more about the size of Clark’s purse then the identity of his passengers. His ship would sail in three days time.

Jamie spent his remaining time in Edinburgh in a state of nervous anticipation. Though some of the English soldiers took advantage of the entertainment available in the city, Clark was careful not to leave Jamie's side. They did little besides sitting in their quarters in awkward silence, leaving only to find food. Murtaugh added to the generally dour atmosphere by glaring at Clark unceasingly, and Jamie counted down the hours until he could be rid of the man. He didn't envy his godfather his part in the next step of their plan.

When it finally came time to set sail, Clark escorted Murtaugh and Jamie to the docks. The other soldiers, too conspicuous due to their bright red uniforms, parted ways with them before they reached the harbor. Jamie was pleased to see them depart, though he noticed that two of the English had changed into civilian clothing and were following at a distance. He kept careful note of their positions.

When they reached the ship, all three were able to board without incident after Clark placed coins in the hands of the first mate. Jamie stayed on deck watching the British soldiers loitering on the docks.

Not thirty minutes later, the sailors finished their preparations, pulled the gangway onto the ship, and lowered the sails. This was just what they had been waiting for. As they pulled away from shore, Jamie caught Murtagh’s eye and gave him a subtle nod. His godfather quickly moved below deck, ostensibly to check their accommodations, and then emerged, irate. He grabbed a sailor at random and dragged him below deck, where he pointed out the inadequacy of their assigned space. He argued over the value of the coin they had paid, and when he did not receive satisfactory response, he demanded to talk to the first mate. Clark followed, trying in futility to get Murtaugh to shut up. 

It wasn't until they had reached full speed and had been swept into the receding tide that Murtaugh emerged on deck once more, looked around, and abruptly folded his arms in front of him. He blandly apologized for his rudeness and thanked the sailors for providing them transport. Clark gaped at him in confusion before throwing his hands up in disgust and walking away. Murtaugh leaned against the railing, watched the passing shoreline, and calmly waited for Clark to realize what had happened.

Fifteen minutes later, Clark stormed over, grabbed him by his collar, and pushed him halfway over the rail. “Where is he? Where is he?”

Murtaugh neatly kicked Clark’s legs out from under him, straightened up, and nodded at the ocean. “Out there. He’s gone.”

“Turn this ship ‘round!” yelled Clark. “Turn it back! There’s a fugitive escaped!”

The sailors ignored him. He protested to the first mate, who rolled his eyes and explained that even if they wanted to go back, they couldn’t. Not against both the tides and the wind. He yelled at the captain, who answered that if he wanted to go after Jamie, he was welcome to jump overboard and follow him.

Clark finally drew his sword and pointed it at Murtagh, who did nothing in response but fold his arms across his chest and arch a single thick brow. “Then you shall pay for his crimes, old man. You, his wife, and all your friends.”

“Pay?” Murtagh answered with a smile. “Yes, yes, that’s what we’ll do. We have every intention of paying.”

A few miles behind them, Jamie crawled onto land, soaking wet, exhausted, and exhilarated. As the cold sea lapped at his legs, he lay upon the rocky shore gasping for breath. He hoped no one was around to see him, because he couldn’t find the energy to stand, let alone flee or fight. Swimming against the outgoing tide was one of the most physically taxing things he had ever done, but he had succeeded, because he had to. There was no other choice. If he died here in the ocean, or failed in his mission, it was not he who would suffer for it, but Murtagh, Willie, Angus, and Duncan. And Claire. Most of all, Claire and their bairn. He closed his eyes and thought of her, remembering her words of encouragement, of love, of faith. 

When he had the strength, he pulled his sopping wet clothes out of the pack he’d kept on his back, pulled on his shoes, found a path that cut through the rocks, and he made his way into the cover of the forest. There he waited for night to fall. He dozed, freezing since he had lost his coat to the ocean, and dreamed of his wife’s arms to warm him. He woke when the moon rose and began to walk, still thinking of her. He wondered if Clark had managed to make his way to shore yet, and if so, if the rest of the redcoats knew he had escaped. As he slipped into the darkness, he prayed that they would not take out their retribution on his wife. Because if they did, he would have his vengeance before he followed her into death.

 


	5. The Treasure

Traversing Scotland by foot was tedious and time-consuming. Jamie traveled by moonlight, avoiding the redcoat patrols crawling over the countryside. Thankfully, their camps were easy to spot since they had no need to dampen their fires or quiet their soldiers, for they were the victors, after all, and had no need to hide. He carefully steered clear, though on the first night, he was forced to steal an unattended blanket from the edge of one of their camps, or die of exposure.

The journey took nearly a week. He could not risk stealing a horse or seeking a ride from one of the passing wagons, so he could only move as quickly as he could walk. Along the way, he passed Scots and British alike, and he stayed in the shadows and kept to himself. He stopped only to forage for food. From afar he saw the devastation that the British wrought, the destruction that Claire had warned him about. Homesteads were sacked, crops burned, and men arrested, assaulted, or outright killed. Every time he saw such an injustice, he had to force himself to look away and keep moving. It was against his natural instinct not to help, but he was unarmed but for a small knife he managed to secret into his shoe, and he had to consider self-preservation. Or rather, he had to consider the preservation of his family. For if he did not return to Claire, she would be at the mercy of the British, and he did not trust Grey to do right by her. All he could do was pray that Murtaugh could protect her until he returned. If not, he might return to a corpse instead of a wife.

He moved west, then north, then west again. And eventually, though it was still dark, too dark to properly see, he knew exactly where he was. These were MacKenzie lands, or had been MacKenzie lands before the uprising. Idly he wondered to whom this land would now belong. Colum and Dougal were dead, and Hamish was far too young to fight for his ancestral rights. Would the British keep it for themselves? Install a minor English nobleman with a new title and lands? Or would they give it to a Scot, one of the turncoats who had sided with the English crown instead of his own people? He didn’t know, and truly, he didn’t care, so long as he was left alone long enough to accomplish his task. 

On the final night, in the midst of a cold, wet rain, he finally reached his destination. The coast. He had traveled here with Dougal when he was sixteen. That day was warm, bearing a rare, cloudless sky that sent sunlight sparkling over the ocean. Now he could hardly see past the edge of the cliff. But the silkies on the rocks below told him that he had arrived. They were awake and braying in anticipation of a sunrise obscured by the clouds. 

It was too dark for any further action. If he tried to make his way down the cliff right now, surely he would break his neck. Instead he found shelter in the nearby forest, foraged some nuts and plants that Claire would have insisted he eat, and lay down to rest.

When day finally broke, and the grey clouds above turned to white after they had dropped all their rain, Jamie made his way back to the cliff’s edge. In the daylight, he could see the place that Duncan had told him about: three desolate islands clustered offshore. If Duncan was to be believed, the farthest of the three held their salvation. It seemed impossible to reach, especially because even in daylight, climbing down to the rocky shore below would be suicide. Just standing on the cliff, several small rocks broke from the brittle edge and fell to the ground below.

A few minutes search revealed the next of Duncan’s secrets: a spike of granite that marked the hidden passage that would allow him to pass to sea level safely. He took it as a sign that the crack splitting the Rock shared a name with his late mother. It was “Ellen’s Tower”. He crossed himself, sent a quick prayer to his mother, and fit himself into the narrow space. 

Twice he lost his handhold on the slippery rocks and nearly fell to his death, but eventually he reached the bottom of the natural chimney. He stripped down to his shirt, kept his sporran strapped around his waist, and made his way along the little peninsula. Most of the silkies were in the water, hunting, but a few remained on the shore. They glanced at him as he picked his way between them but made no move to stop him. Even a large, aggressive bull only postured and barked at him. He assumed he had their blessing to pass. From the tip of the peninsula, the island was but a quarter mile away. Still quite a distance, especially fighting the waves breaking on the shore, but possible to cross. Better yet, he found a buoyant piece of driftwood amongst the rocks. After a final glance up the cliffs to make sure that no one was watching him but the silkies, he plunged into the cold water. 

The swim was strenuous, but he was determined to reach the island, and when he needed to rest, he draped himself over the driftwood. The journey was less difficult than the one he had made after jumping overboard a week before, especially when he reached a current that pulled him toward his goal in a wide arc. 

The island was barren but for some damp lichen, scuttling crabs, and two silkies resting on the granite. They glanced at him as he searched. Feeling their eyes on him, he idly began to narrate his activities, including a pleased exclamation when he discovered a crack in center of the island. He lowered himself down to a sandy floor, just feet away from an old, wooden chest. It was just as Duncan had said. He opened the box to find a bag, heavy with jewels, and ancient Roman and Greek coins. Jamie stuffed the bag and a handful of coins into his sporran, closed the lid, and lifted himself out of the crevice. 

Jamie timed his swim back to shore to match the tide coming in, easing his return. The climb up Ellen’s tower was just as strenuous as the passage down, and by the time he reached cover of the forest again, the sun was low in the sky once more. Perhaps he ought to sleep, but despite the day’s draining activities, he couldn’t rest. He began to walk along the coast, and after about an hour of searching, he was lucky to find what he needed: a battered but seaworthy skiff hauled up on the beach. Its owners were nowhere to be seen, likely asleep in the seaside cottage he could barely make out in the dark. As he pulled the skiff into the water, he quietly promised it, “I’ll have ye back by morning.”

And he did. By the time the next sun rose finished what he had come here to do, and he began the long journey back to his wife.


	6. Reunion

Every minute that Jamie was gone felt like an hour. In my mind’s eye, I kept watching him ride away from me, surrounded by a company of redcoats. It played in a continuous loop. I hoped against hope that it would not be my last sight of him.

A different memory came to me, of my first husband standing upon a wooden platform, staring after me as a train carried me off to war. Was this how Frank had felt? Was this what he experienced? This gnawing pain in the pit of the stomach, the weight upon the chest, this visceral fear? I had now experienced separation on both sides: I had left, and I had been left behind. The latter was infinitely worse. I would have given anything to join Jamie on his dangerous journey, to be able to do something. To be at his side. To help. But I could do nothing but watch, and wait. 

Angus had reassured me, “He'll be fine. He'll do what he must, and then he'll be back for ye."

"For us," I had corrected him distractedly. At that moment, Jamie had turned in his saddle to look at me, and I was captured by his intense gaze. I had hardly noticed Captain Foster touching my other elbow. When I realized he was speaking, I had no idea what he had said. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

The young captain had repeated, "Please don't fret, Mistress. You will be well cared for no matter what happens. I'll make sure of it."

He hadn’t required an answer, so I gave him none. Instead I had watched Jamie's retreating form and memorized exactly how he looked in that moment: my flame-haired, broad-shouldered, powerful highland warrior. He had looked straight at me and placed his palm over his heart, and I had done the same. Then he had disappeared between the trees.

The next several days felt oddly familiar despite my continuous worry over Jamie. This was not, after all, my first experience as a nurse in the British army. With nothing else to do, I resumed my duties as a healer. Eventually I was able to successfully remove Duncan’s drain, and Willie slowly healed as well. In addition to caring for them, I was distracted by the myriad concerns of the Scottish prisoners. Many captured Scottish rebels were executed upon discovery, but not all, and those brought back to camp became my patients if they were injured, since no one cared enough to stop me. When possible, I also followed up with the soldiers who had come to me for assistance when we had first arrived, plus any others who sought my aid. This angered the army surgeon to no end, however, especially when some began to say that my skills surpassed his. Unwittingly, I made an enemy out of Dr. Wilkes, an arrogant fellow who could not stand being shown up by a traitor, let alone a woman. Foster, on the other hand, seemed fascinated by the healing arts and by any procedures I performed, and asked many questions about what I was doing and why. It seemed to be more than a passing interest. Soon he began to assist me, and I started to teach him what I knew.

During the day, my attention was pulled towards the needs of the men who sought my aid. At night, though, I felt Jamie’s absence acutely. I was housed in a tent separately from the other prisoners, so there was no other chatter or conversation to distract me. Alone in the dark, I lay awake imagining a myriad of terrible fates that might have befallen my husband. 

Several days after Jamie left, I realized that some of my medicinal supplies were running low. In particular, I needed more garlic and onion for fresh poultices. The Army cook adamantly refused to part with any of his supply, so I asked Captain Foster if I might forage for some. He agreed to accompany me, so I gathered my things and we set out. Angus wanted to escort me as well, but was not allowed, as he was thought to be a flight risk. I, as a woman, was not. 

After we lost sight of the camp, we heard raised voices coming from the opposite direction. Around a bend in the path we found four redcoats dragging a kilted Scotsman back toward the camp. He was bloodied and bruised, but his terror was not for himself, but the fate of someone else. "Please! Please, he'll die out there! You can't just leave him there! He's barely a wean!"

One of the soldiers cuffed him in the jaw, shouting, "Shut your mouth! I don't want to hear another word! I'll gag you if you speak again!"

I knew I had no power here, but I couldn't stay silent. I strode forward and demanded to know, "What is the meaning of this?"

Though they had no obligation to answer me, one of the men, perhaps reacting instinctively to the sound of a stern British voice, answered, "Ignore him, mistress. The prisoner would say anything to escape."

"But his child!" I protested, ignoring Foster's attempts to quiet me. 

Still struggling, the Scot directed his plea at me. "Please, mistress! Help me! My son, he's just a small boy. His mam died in childbirth, and I'm all he has in the world. He's by himself in the woods. He'll die if no one goes back for him!"

As he was dragged away, I called after him, "Where is he? I'll find him! Where do I go?" 

He yelled back, "By the fork in the river! His name is Alan. Please, find my boy!"

When I turned around, Captain Foster was looking at me with a resigned expression. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

I couldn't help but smile at his accurate assessment. "Not on your life."

He chuckled ruefully back. "No, I don't suppose so. In fact, I'm quite certain that you would happily trade my life for the little boy."

“For a small child, I would probably trade my own."

Foster knew the area the man spoke of. It wasn’t too far off. We heard the boy well before we saw him, and I rushed toward the sound of his loud wails to find a towheaded, red-faced, weeping toddler. His father had placed him amongst a collection of boulders which formed a natural barrier, keeping him out of sight as well as from tumbling into the frigid, rushing water. He seemed to have tripped and stumbled trying to escape his little prison, then finally gave up and sat down, uncertain what to do next. His hands and legs were scraped and bleeding, and his clout was sopping wet with urine. I ignored his filthy state and picked him up, cooing his name. Perhaps he had no natural fear of strangers, or was just relieved to see a human face, for he clung to me desperately, his breath hitching with sobs.

When Captain Foster caught up with us and the child spotted him, Alan shrieked in terror and buried his face in my bosom, quaking with fear. "Your coat, take off your coat!" He quizzically cocked a brow at me, and I explained, "Your uniform. Men who look like you took his father away and left him here to die. They terrified this poor child."

Foster obligingly removed the top layer of his conspicuous red uniform without argument, much to my surprise. The child immediately quieted. We debated what to do with him as we walked, coming to no conclusion. I wanted to return him to his father, but Foster adamantly refused. The prisoner was in no position to care for his own child, nor would I be allowed to keep him in the camp.

We reached a compromise when we came upon a small homestead and heard a disturbance therein. Two unfamiliar redcoats were engaged in a heated argument with the inhabitants, a widow and her younger sister. The soldiers wanted to take provisions from the sisters, who had resisted. In exchange, the soldiers were threatening to burn the homestead and adjacent fields. Foster brokered a bargain between them in which the women gave up less than the soldiers demanded, and in exchange for an order of protection written by Foster, they agreed to keep the child.

As we left, I asked him, “Do you think it will work? Your order of protection?”

He answered honestly. “I don't know. It depends on who reads it, and why, I suppose.”

“It's a travesty. Burning women and children out of their homes. Starving them, raping them. What kind of King wants that kind of suffering for his people?”

He pointed out, “The Jacobites don't believe King George is their king.”

“And do you think the redcoats indiscriminately burning farms are being careful to separate the fervent Jacobites from the innocent Scots? You know as well as I do that most people don't care a whit about politics. There were rebels here, yes, men who lay their lives down for a man who had never stepped foot on Scottish soil. Those men are dead, dying, or running. These are their wives and their children, losing their homes, being starved to death, being terrorized. For what?”

“For the King’s pride,” Foster answered honestly. 

“And that's good enough for you?”

Foster sighed heavily, stopped walking, and turned to face me. “Mrs. Fraser. Claire. This isn't my choice. I am a soldier, and I follow the orders I am given. But that doesn't mean that I do not care.”

I knew what it was to be a soldier. In the Great War, I had the luxury of knowing that I was on the side of right, the side of good. But that did not mean that every German soldier on the other side was an evil man. Far from it. The sadness in Foster’s voice reminded me that I was not, in fact, arguing with King George, but with a young man who had just helped a small Scottish boy, two vulnerable Scottish women, and me. “You are an honorable man, Captain Foster,” I conceded. “Thank you for what you did.”

When we returned to camp, I was pleased to tell the prisoner of war what had become of his son. It was not within my power to save him, but he did not care. He knew he would survive in the form of his child.

It was while I was I speaking with the man that we heard a great commotion. The Scots were moving toward the fence. As we made our way to the front of the mass, a voice rose above the clamor. 

“Red Jamie is gone! He’s escaped his escorts, and played the English for fools!”

My heart began to pound, for this was what I had been waiting for. I turned to Captain Foster, and as calmly as I could, said, “Would you be so kind as to escort me to Lord Melton? I have news of my husband that he will want to know.”

* * *

 

Murtagh knelt on the ground, chained, at Grey’s feet. His face was covered in bruises and one eye was nearly swollen shut, but he grinned at me when he saw me through his good eye. 

Grey’s back was ramrod straight, and his fists were clenched at his sides. “I do not appreciate being made a fool of, Mr. Fraser. Your kinsman should have taken you with him instead of leaving you to accept his punishment.”

“Ah, but if I'm no’ here to welcome him upon his return, he willna be inclined to make a trade.”

Grey scoffed. “A trade? A trade! You've surely lost your mind.”

He hadn't seen me enter, so I cleared my throat and made myself known. “Lord Melton, my husband will be displeased at the mistreatment of his messenger and kinsman."

He whirled round to face me. "Displeased? He'll be displeased? I, Mrs. Fraser, I am displeased! And that you should speak to me in this manner? Do you both have a death wish? Because though I usually do not abide by the hanging of women, I think I could make an exception in your case."

"I have no doubt of that, and surely you have the authority, but you strike me as a pragmatic man. As such, you'll want to hear us out.”

His face was red with anger. “After he’s fled and made a fool of me and my men? You must be joking.”

“He hasn’t fled,” I clarified calmly. “He’s coming back, and he won’t come empty handed. He’s going to offer you a better deal than the one you offered him."

This surprised him enough to make him pause. He obviously didn’t believe me, but he was pragmatic enough to hear me out before summarily executing us. "What in heaven’s name are you talking about?"

"You sent my husband to assassinate Prince Charles, did you not? Well, such an assassination would be worthless, and actually detrimental to your cause. Charles himself is worthless. He will live the rest of his life in shame and ignominy, and everyone will know him for the failure that he is. He’s a worthless leader, a petty man, and a disaster as a military strategist. He has no men, no money, and no power. He’s no threat to the Crown, and no asset to King Louis. All he’ll do is drain his cousin’s coffers. That is,  _ if _ he lives, he will live in defeat and humiliation. But in death? Well, death would be a different matter. A dead man can be made a martyr. And by sending Jamie off to take his life, that is exactly what you would have created: a symbol, a martyr for the Jacobite cause, a romantic hero, the memory of a dead prince to rally around.”

Grey cut me off. "Are you trying to tell me that your husband has done me a favor? Dear God, woman, you truly do think that I am a fool! This is the most absurd line of…"

But I kept speaking, determined to be heard. "My husband will return to offer you a better deal. One that is much more valuable to the Crown. Jamie didn't escape simply to escape. He isn't on the run. He's retrieving something worth more than the head of prince Charles, and he's bringing it back here to you."

"W-what?" He sputtered. "What are you talking about? This is madness!"

This time Murtagh answered. "Gold. He's gone to get gold."

I continued, "And he'll bring it back to you, and you can turn it over to the Crown. The King will be quite pleased with you. The war must have depleted his coffers significantly.”

Grey held up his hand abruptly. “Nonsense. Absolute nonsense. James Fraser could not possibly possess enough gold to impress me or the crown.”

“It’s not Fraser gold,” I explained. “It’s King Louis’s gold, bound for Prince Charles for the rebellion, but never received. So when Jamie recovers it for you, and you turn it over to the King, do you not think he’ll be pleased that you’ve stolen a treasure away from Louis and right out of Charles’ hands?” 

Before he answered me, the tent flap opened, and a familiar, furious face appeared: Edward Clark, the man who had let Jamie escape. As soon as he saw me, he lunged at me with an incomprehensible cry. Foster, still by my side, neatly blocked him before he could get his hands around my throat. As Captain Foster dragged him backward, I saw that his uniform had been stripped of his officer’s insignia. He had been demoted. 

He spat at me, but the globule landed harmlessly at my feet. “Traitorous bitch!”

I tried to calm my pounding heart and said simply, “Mr. Clark.”

With a string of curses, Clark demanded to question me, and I knew from the expression on his face that very little verbal questioning would be involved. He simply wanted someone upon whom to unleash his rage, much as he had already done to Murtagh. Jamie’s godfather immediately protested, stating that Jamie would trade nothing for a dead wife. “And then the only thing you’ll have to give to your King are the bodies of a few worthless traitors. Surely he’d rather have Jacobite gold.” 

Luckily, Grey realized the truth of this statement, and I had already made it clear that I would answer any questions he had. He waved Clark away. “You’ve already done enough damage. I’ll not turn her over for you to lose. You’re dismissed.”

“Major, I beg of you…”

In a clipped tone, Grey repeated, “You are dismissed!” and Clark slinked away, throwing a bitter glare at me over his shoulder. Grey turned back to me and Murtagh. “Now. Tell me everything. Absolutely everything.”

Grey did question us further, and we told him what we knew, save the actual location of the gold, which we claimed not to know. Under no circumstances would I risk Jamie’s life by allowing the British to search for it before he could recover it. 

After Lord Melton sent me away and I was alone once more, I collapsed onto my bedroll and finally allowed my emotions to get the better of me. The truth was, though I had laid out our proposal exactly as planned, I had no idea whether any of it was true. I had no chance to speak with Murtagh, and I had no idea where Jamie actually was, nor when, or even if, he would return. All I could do was wait. Foster tried to get me to eat that night, but the bowl grew cold as I stared at it, and eventually I fell into a fitful, nightmarish sleep. 

The next day, I managed a few minutes with Murtagh when I brought him his meal. He reassured me that Jamie had escaped, but rather than slipping away from their guards on the road or somewhere in Edinburgh, he had waited until they had set sail and then jumped overboard. I was horrified. For all I knew, his body was lost forever in the ocean, never to be seen again. I couldn't get the image out of my head. It absolutely haunted me. 

As the days passed with no sign of Jamie, I grew more and more worried. I had no one with whom to discuss my fears; Murtagh, Willie, Angus, and Duncan were moved into a secure cabin that served as a jail, and I was not allowed anywhere near them. Only two things distracted me from thinking of my husband’s fate. The first was my work. I threw myself into it to distract myself from my fear. Foster was an enthusiastic learner and a great help. He began to manage simple concerns such as minor wounds and sprains, and he indulged my insistence on proper hygiene practices. With his assistance, I was able to help many prisoners. 

The other distraction wasn’t so welcome. Once, as I was showing Foster how to pull a rotten tooth, I noticed that he wasn’t looking at what we were doing, but over my shoulder. “Look here. Help me tip his head back.”

He returned his attention to our patient, who was very grateful when we were finished. As we walked away, he told me, “Clark was lurking by the privy. He’s gone now.”

“He wants me dead.”

Foster shook his head. “He won’t have the satisfaction. I won’t let him near you.”

He kept his word, though Clark didn’t make it easy. I think he spent most of his off-duty time trying to frighten me, or perhaps even trying to get close enough to hurt me. I would step out of my tent only to feel a chill up my spine, and after looking round, would see him staring from a distance. Once I was called to a patient’s bedside only find an empty tent. I heard a twig snap on the other side of the canvas, and when Foster went to look, I heard the sound of running. I didn’t want to think about what might have happened had I been alone. 

Foster took to sleeping directly outside my tent in order to keep watch over me, and he even convinced Major Grey to send Clark away on another assignment for my protection. Grey held no genuine concern for my person, and may well have been inclined to allow Clark to do me harm, were it not for the fact that he wanted me unmolested while we waited for Jamie’s return, on the off chance that we were telling the truth. He could always, as he reminded me, have me executed later. 

Thus the days passed in a combination of anxiety and boredom, and my nights were filled with terrible dreams of Jamie, dead and drowned, never to return. And each time I managed to forget these worries for a moment, I would overhear the taunts of the English soldiers, telling me that my husband had died in the escape, or that he had fled and abandoned me. I knew the latter was an impossibility, but not the first, not until, while Foster and I were tending to a feverish Scottish prisoner, we were called to the borders of the camp. The young soldier who had been sent to retrieve us told us nothing, but he couldn’t silence the chatter of the men we passed on our way. Red Jamie had returned.

He was chained in the back of a wagon. He resembled nothing so much as a mad vagabond, gaunt, streaked with filth, clothes bedraggled and torn, hair a knotted mess, and beard wild. To me, he was the most beautiful sight in the world. My beloved husband had returned.

Decorum lost, I ran, tripping over stray rocks and sticks, to Jamie. A guard grabbed me when I was only feet away. Jamie sprang up in my defense but was yanked back by his chains, but Melton waved his hand and the guard let me go. I threw myself onto Jamie, knocking him flat onto his back and wrapping myself around him.

“You bloody foolish man! You’re insane, did you know that?”

He laughed, a full, throaty, joyful sound from deep inside his chest. “Sassenach! Oh, my Sassenach.” 

I was indignant, but not enough to let him go. “You’re jumped into the bloody ocean! The ocean! You could’ve died, you idiot!”

“Ah, I may be a fool, but I’d not drown. Not when I had you to swim back to. I wouldna leave you here by yourself.” He tried to return my embrace, but his shackles, jammed between our ribs, wouldn’t allow the movement. The most he could do was place his hands on my hips. It mattered not at all. I squeezed hard enough for the both of us, laughing with joy.


	7. The Bargain

With a pointed cough, Grey separated us.  "Mr. Fraser, you’ve decided to grace us with your presence once more."

As he was pulled from the back of the wagon, Jamie skipped the preliminaries and asked about the only thing he really cared about. "How are my kinsmen?"

Grey folded his arms across his chest.  "How do you think? Your little trip was dangerous, sir, not only for you, but for them as well."

“I simply want to know if they are well.”

Grey didn’t answer, but turned and led the way back to his tent, gesturing for Jamie’s guards to bring both of us. Behind Grey, our eyes met, and I nodded at him briefly. Though I had not been allowed to see them in several days, Foster reassured me that they were unharmed. But Grey said only, "You don't get to make demands, not after what you've done. I ought to have you hanged immediately before you can cause any more trouble.”

"Perhaps you should, but you won't. The fact that you haven’t had me shot on sight tells me that you'll hear me out, at least, before you kill me."

Grey demanded, "Are you trying to convince me that that absurd tale that your wife and kinsman told us is true? What utter rubbish.” 

"If ye thought it was rubbish, you'd not have sent men to search for it.” Jamie gestured at his escorts. “‘Tis a good thing I met them along their way and turned myself in to them. I’ve spared them days, no, weeks, of fruitless searching. They’re no’ the most observant group, ye ken.” 

Grey sent one deadly glare back at Jamie, but said nothing more until we arrived back at his tent. “Now tell me why I shouldn’t have you executed on the spot.”

Jamie looked to me, and I nodded again. I had told Grey what we meant to do. The rest was up to him. “My sporran. Check my sporran. The proof is there." The guard dumped out the contents of the small bag to reveal his few personal effects and a dozen of the ancient coins which he had taken from the island. "There's your proof. Gold that King Louis sent for Prince Charlie, or a verra small portion of it anyway."

"Not exactly a gold bar, is it?” Lord Grey picked up one of the coins and held it up for examination. “This is old. Very old."

"And verra valuable."   
  
Grey asked, "Where on earth did you get this?”

“A wee island off the western coast.”

Grey leaned back in his chair, turning the coin to and fro. After a lengthy pause, he asked, “Why should I believe there is any more of this? Perhaps you just went to retrieve a family heirloom.”

Now Jamie looked back to me. “You have my wife, sir. I will not risk false trickery when you would take your vengeance out on her. I'd much sooner have completed the mission upon which you sent me, rather than risk coming back with nothing with which to bargain for her life.”

“And yet instead of holding your end of our bargain, you ran away from my man.”

Jamie reminded him, “What I brought you now, that’s a gift. As for the rest, well, I’ve returned to make you a better offer than the one you made me.”

Grey pushed the coins together in a small pile on the table. “How much is there in total?"

"I don't know exactly, but the box is about so big." Jamie estimated the size of the chest with his hands. 

Grey cocked a brow. “That’s all?”

"Tis a smaller chest than I expected, but worth far more than its weight, ye ken. In the hands of a collector, at least, for every coin is Greek or Roman. Portable, too. We were told that King Louis meant to send fifty thousand pounds for the cause. I’d guess that's what the right buyer might pay, though I’m no expert. It might well be an exaggeration, but ‘tis still a sizable sum." 

"And you think that's enough to buy your freedom?" Grey asked. "Yours and your wife's?"

"You were willing to grant us freedom in exchange for Prince Charlie’s life. I’ll tell ye that this gold is worth more than Charlie's head. I ken the man, and that he's finished. He'll not trouble the crown from now on.”

Grey scoffed. “How could you possibly say that? After what the man’s done? As long as he's alive, he's a threat.”

Jamie declared, “With what army? His loyal subjects lay dead on Culloden Moor. After we crowned him King of Scotland, do ye think we wanted to give our blood so that he could rule England as well? The man wronged us as well. Do you think the Scots will forgive him? We have long memories. We'll mourn our dead, but not the coward who spent our lives for his worthless pride. No. Charlie is no threat to the English, no’ any more. Not unless ye decide to martyr him. Assassination, aye, that could strengthen the Jacobite cause. But the living Prince? The man's a reckless fool. So aye, the coin that was meant for him, I'll trade it for our freedom, mine, my wife's, and my kin. King George can use that gold. He can't use Charlie's corpse unless he wants to martyr the man and start a new rebellion."

Grey slammed his fist down and leaned forward. "Why should I trade you anything after you’ve made a fool of me?”

“Because you’re not a fool. Because I’m here now, and because what I say is true. My kinsman didn’t stay on board that ship to taunt ye, he stayed to carry my message and make my offer. Now I bring ye proof that the offer is good.”

“Why didn’t you make me this offer in the first place? Just had to humiliate me first?”

Jamie answered, “I’d never seen the treasure with my own eyes. I couldn’t be sure it was real, or that I’d find it, or if someone might have taken it already. I needed it in hand before I could bargain with it.”

Grey pointed out, “But you don’t have it in hand. You have a handful of coins. Mr Fraser, I know that the location of this so-called treasure came from Mr. Kerr, not from you.” I was surprised by this. I hadn’t said anything of the sort, and I was certain Murtagh hadn’t either. Perhaps the guards had heard Duncan talking to one of the other MacKenzies? “I’ll simply have them retrieve it. What do I need you for?”

Jamie couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Because no one but me knows where it's buried. Not now. I moved the gold from the island. So either you take my deal and trade all our lives for the gold, or kill me and the treasure is lost forever."

Grey cursed and threw us out of his tent while he contemplated our offer. 

I was allowed to help wash and shave my husband, since he was unable to do much of anything while bound and shackled. Foster discreetly kept his back turned while I lathered Jamie’s beard. “I missed ye,” he murmured, a small, warm smile on his lips.

I carefully ran the blade down his cheek. “I did too. And worried myself silly, you bloody fool. You couldn’t have snuck off on the road, or somewhere in Edinburgh? You just had to jump into the ocean!”

While I wiped the razor clean, he stole a kiss, smearing the lather on my nose. “And swam back to ye, Sassenach.”

“No, you swam back to shore, and then you walked across Scotland, and you left poor Murtagh holding the bag.”

“Holding the bag?” he asked, perplexed. “What bag?”

“Never mind. Turn your head.” I carefully removed the beard on the other side of his face. “When Murtagh told me what you’d done, I swear my heart stopped.”

When I paused again, he explained, “I needed a head start. I kent that Clark wouldna be able to make it to shore right away, so I’d have a bit of a lead, and depending on when Clark could get word to anyone, just him chasing me. Not so if I escaped from Edinburgh.” He brushed his lips against mine once more. 

“I still wish you hadn’t. I feared you’d drowned.”

“Och, no. Grey may still hang me, but I’ll no’ leave ye willingly,  _ mo ghraidh _ .”

I wiped his skin clean, then placed a kiss of my own on his newly smooth skin. “Either way, the smell of the ocean is still on you.”

“Ye mean I smell like a dead fish that’s rotted in the sun.”

He was right. He did. Foster reluctantly unshackled him so that he might remove his filthy clothes, and I washed him as best as I could with wet linens and the contents of my medicine box. He looked at me, heavy lidded and with the corner of his mouth curled up, and would have pushed me onto my back had we been alone. But we were not, so he settled for a rather bold and possessive kiss as I was helping him into a clean shirt. 

Foster didn’t particularly appreciate it and sent Jamie off to the cabin where the others were being held. I was not allowed to join him, but for the first time in days, I slept well knowing where he was and that he was safe.

The next day, we set out with Major Grey. He tried to separate us for the journey, but soon realized it was both futile and pointless. I happily rode in the back of the wagon tucked up against Jamie, who was still shackled and bound.

I wanted to know everything that had happened after he had escaped, but this was neither the time nor the place. There were too many ears all around us. But that hardly mattered. Jamie was here, and he was all I needed. I contented myself by feeling his solid form in my hands as we rode in the back of the wagon. While he couldn't safely tell me much of anything, he wanted to know exactly what had happened to me while he was gone. I was pleased to honestly reassure him that Clark was unsuccessful in any attempt to harm my person, mostly thanks to Captain Foster, and he begrudgingly said he'd have to thank the man, who was still assigned as my guard and rode behind us.

Moving by wagon and horseback in daylight, we travelled much more quickly than Jamie had been able to on foot. It only took us two days to reach the site. Upon reaching the cliffs, Jamie pointed out the island upon which she had found the treasure, but reassured Major Grey that there was nothing left there but seals and sand. Then he pointed the way down the coast, and eventually toward and old, abandoned chapel that appeared to have grown straight out of the rocks. Jamie lifted two fingers into the air. “Here. We’re here."

Grey called for the company to halt and gestured for Jamie to be brought down from the wagon. "So show me the rest of this treasure."

Jamie look him steadily in the eye. "Show me the letter."

Major Grey reached into his pocket and held a sheet of parchment aloft. This was the order of our release. Before Jamie could touch it, Grey put it away. "Not so fast. Only after I see what I'm trading it for.”

Jamie led the major through the small graveyard behind the church and into a thick copse of trees. In the center stood the remnants of what had once been a mighty oak, but had been split asunder by a bolt of lightning. Jamie began to pull dead branches and old leaves away from its base, then pointed at the cleared ground. "There."

It wasn't deep, as Jamie had had nothing with which to dig. Grey hauled it out of the ground himself, cocking his head. "It's a small box."

"Just as I told you. Go ahead, open it."

And there they were. Tens of thousands of pounds worth of ancient gold coins. Grey pulled out a fistful and let them clink, one by one, back onto the pile. "Worth more than their weight, just as you said,” he conceded.

"Then do we have a deal?" Jamie asked.

Lord Melton straightened, reached into his pocket, and drew out the letter. "We do, Mr. Fraser." Jamie looked it over quickly. As he reached the midway point of the letter, a confused frown crossed his face. “MacKenzie lands? You mean to send me to Leoch? To the kin of the man I killed? Not to my own home?”

Grey told us, “I mean to send you and your wife where I can keep an eye on you, and where you can be of use to me.”

“Of use? How can I be of use at Leoch?”

Grey explained, “To keep the remaining MacKenzies in line. You see, we knew about the rift between Colum and Dougal. We knew that Colum was moderate, pragmatic, but that his brother was the fervent Jacobite. It was no secret. We know the clan was divided. Not everyone was so eager to go to war.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“If what you and your kinsmen told me is true, if Colum had had his way, you would have succeeded him as Lord, not his brother. Yes?” At Jamie’s reluctant nod, he continued, “There will be pockets of Jacobite sentiment amongst the remaining clan. I need someone to quash those sentiments. You’re the man for the job. You’ll take leadership of the remaining members, and you’ll keep them in line.”

Jamie tried, “Why not do that on Fraser land? I’m a Fraser, no’ a MacKenzie.”

“Your father’s estate is tiny compared to the MacKenzies’. And you already sent all the Fraser men home. None of them fought at Culloden, but many MacKenzies did. You’ll go to Leoch because that’s where the Crown needs you to suppress remaining Jacobite sympathies. And as I said, you’re going where I can keep an eye on you. I can’t have you fleeing the country and joining other escaped Jacobites, now can I? You will go with an escort who will remain at Leoch, who will be my eyes and ears. Your men may accompany you. They’ll be paroled into your care, not pardoned. That means you will be held responsible for any and all crimes they commit against the Crown in the future, so you’d better keep them in line. However, they may also vouch for you, which I know they will gladly do, and they will vouch for the power of the Crown. It should ease tensions with the remaining MacKenzies.” Now his voice grew hard, tinted with real fury. “But if you ever step out of line, I won’t hesitate to use this.” He handed Jamie another parchment, which we quickly scanned together. It was a signed statement from Willie, his formal witnessing of Dougal’s death. “I’ve arranged your pardon for your rebel activities. Not for the murder of Dougal MacKenzie. The Crown, of course, will happily overlook the death of a Jacobite war criminal, so long as your actions do not displease us. If you step out of line, just one inch out of line, you shall be arrested and hanged for his murder.”

It wasn’t exactly what we’d hoped for, but it was enough. In some ways, it was actually better. The best we had hoped for was to escape overseas, perhaps to France or the Colonies. That would mean true freedom, but we would have to say goodbye to Scotland, perhaps forever. This way, we would be allowed to remain on Scottish soil. It wasn’t Lallybroch, but we would raise our child amongst Jamie’s maternal kin. 

“Do we have a deal, Mr. Fraser?”

Jamie placed the pardon in his pocket, and he handed Willie’s statement back to Grey. “We do.” The men shook hands.

Jamie’s shackles and chains were removed for the return journey, and we were thrilled to free Duncan, Angus, and Willie when we returned to camp. Grey offered us quarter as guests until the next morning, but we were all eager to be gone. We packed our few belongings, and a groom brought Jamie his horse. The sun was low in the sky, but we knew we could make it at least a few miles before darkness fell.

Jamie boosted me onto the horse and climbed on behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me tight. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” I began.

I heard the surprise in his voice. “For what? Dinna be sorry,  _ mo nighean donn.  _ For we live, you and I, and you are safe here in my arms.”

“Thanks to you. Thanks to you, we’re alive. And to Duncan. I’m just sorry we can’t go home to Lallybroch.”

He brushed my hair away from my neck and kissed it gently. “Dinna fash. For home is wherever you are, you and the bairn.” Then he lowered his palm to my still-flat belly, and I twined my fingers with his.

He took the reins with his other hand and spurred the horse forward with his heels, and we set out for our new home.

 


End file.
